Decent Exposure
by aposse
Summary: The five times Jane and Maura had "awkward" physical encounters with each other, and the one time they didn't.
1. Cleopatra and the Cop

**Decent Exposure**

**Summary:** The five times Jane and Maura had "awkward" physical encounters with each other, and the one time they didn't.

**Note: **As I get settled into creating a romance (which noted in my first story, _Reticent_, is very hard) let me just over-build the sexual tension between these two. I'd also like to say that the way this story is and will continue to be written is an expansion of thought in said character's mind, that in reality, would only actually last for about five minutes. This is also not very case-centric. Just think of each chapter as a moment between Jane and Maura that makes up for, I don't know, a very small fraction of the show, blown up with full acknowledgment of subtext.

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><p><strong>Cleopatra and the Cop<strong>

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><p>Maura would. Jane sighs into her empty cup, eyes fixated on the stack full of papers in the woman's hands. "Did you know," She slouches further into her chair as Maura approaches, well aware where this is about to go. "that one of the very first vibrators ever recorded in history was used in Ancient Egypt <em>by<em> Cleopatra?"

Her brows furrow into a mixture of disgust and interest, but keeping true to her reputation she grimaces; she can't possibly let Maura know her interest has been "piqued" the slightest. "Happy Halloween to you too." She says instead, plastering on her best sarcasm.

"Technically, Halloween isn't a holiday but in my opinion a rather poor excuse to socialize, dress-up or in most cases these days, not dress at all, and spike your sugar levels." Maura sets the papers down on Jane's desk as she buttons her coat. "You don't get to do all three without any pending guilt during the other "holidays."" Her fingers bracket the last word in the air as she stands proudly with her words.

Jane rises from her chair and grabs her blazer, her movements fluid as she shrugs it on. "Did I _say_ it was a holiday?"

"You implied it."

"You didn't have to go all_ Google_ on me, Maura, and you didn't have to Google any of _that_." Her finger swirls over the papers and then to the woman holding them. "What you _need_ to be Googling is where to find your costume." But just before Maura can respond, she notices the muscle in her neck twitch. Jane's face goes hard as her neck cocks back. "How much did you spend?"

"It's being custom made-"

She cuts the persistent tone off, surprise filling her body out to its edges. "You're paying someone to alter a bedsheet?"

"No!" Maura replies, the volume of her voice matching Jane's, which at this point is near the point of a shriek. Thankful for the majority of empty desks in the precinct and that sun is past set, she begins to compose herself. Maura flips through her papers and hands Jane one she pulls out. "Those costumes you're thinking of are a very altered version of her attire. Theda Bara's portrayal of Cleopatra in the early thirties helped alter it, and so did Elizabeth Taylor's thirty years later. Cleopatra herself was often depicted in paintings as-"

"Topless..." Jane holds the photo farther away from her, inspecting it from every angle and distance to make she sure the lack of clothes isn't just in her mind. "Topless." She repeats.

Maura sighs. "I don't like it when you cut me off, Jane."

"And I don't like it when you pay to get a very unsupporting bra and string skirt made, _Maura_." She flips the photo over, not really certain if shoving it in her friend's face makes a difference. "I mean, does this even qualifiy as a skirt?"

Maura tears it from the detective's grip, putting it back in its rightful place. "This may not be one of Gérôme's well recognized paintings, but it is certaintly one of my favourites." She ignores any other comments Jane makes as she continues. "Besides, this is only an outline I gave Gerrit. He knows there are dress rules required to get into the event."

"All I asked is for you to come undercover with me to our suspect's Halloween Gallery Night. When I said to make it look like we didn't know each other, I didn't mean to make yourself look like a prostitute." Jane finally lets the concern emerge through all her hastiness, and though she knows that any other person would be offended with her last few words, Maura is not just any other person. She's her best friend.

Maura steps forward and places her hands on Jane's shoulders, squeezing them with reassurance. "Just trust me."

And Jane does.

But later in the week, when their covers are set and they've seperately attended the event, Jane realizes it's the rest of the world she doesn't trust, and really can't ever. She shows up in her uniform as what she is. A cop. Though she wasn't exactly grateful she couldn't interview their suspect earlier in the week, she's much more thankful now that she didn't. Because if she did he would have seen her face, and if he saw her face, she wouldn't be here undercover, and if she wasn't undercover she wouldn't be with Maura, and if she wasn't with Maura, she would have never seen what she's seeing now.

There, standing just a few feet away from the center of the room is Maura, and it's then she thanks Jaret, or Gerrit, or _however_ his name is spelled for putting this costume together. A part of Jane wants to pull the nearest cloth from a table and wrap Maura in it, just so all eyes can stop lingering, but a part of her doesn't. Then the other part of her - the really slow part - doesn't do anything at all. It rules her for the night, and as she tries to shuffle to a corner or at least down the rest of her drink, her eyes level with the coroner's.

There is something so incredibly captivating about Maura Isles; an air so sophisticated that only men with balls of steel would attempt to approach her. And as Jane thinks back to all the times they've done things together, a realization dawns upon her. But before the realization can process through the different depths of her mind, she realizes she's caught Maura's attention.

She watches as Maura excuses herself from their suspect, hand lingering on the lapel of his blazer, her gold bangle lightly clinking with his pin. And just before she dismisses herself completely, she smiles. She smiles with a smile so infectious it seeps into the stoic lines of his face, and he smiles, too. She offers politely to take his glass, which he happily gives with a curt nod. She almost does a pivot on her heel when she redirects herself in Jane's direction. She takes note that her heels are not just heels, but in fact, gold gladiator pumps. They strap around her ankle, and as her eyes trail up, it puzzles Jane how only a sliver of skin can cause more arousal in men than full on nudity.

Of course Maura's beautiful. Anbody who knows her wouldn't deny that fact. But in this moment, as she effortlessly strides her way over to Jane, a new but overused word comes to mind.

Sexy.

Associating this woman with that word is hard for Jane.. especially given the proximity of their friendship. But with the way the gold belt hugs the curve of her hips, the way the satin skirt fits and how high that slit actually goes, it's the only word she can think of. She doesn't even want to think about the top. Because the more Jane thinks about it, the more she realizes it isn't a top. It covers what it should well, and while leaving little to the mind it also creates more for the mind to imagine. Jane shakes are head, face still expressionless as Maura comes to pass her.

Her posture, though regal, is weighed down. Jane comes to understand just how heavy the necklace must be when she sees its thickness. True to the painting she saw earlier in the week, Maura's hair is up with a thin gold band laying over top. Jane's eyes drop to her lips, and in that moment she sees just how faded they are, and how long her night must have been.

Then she feels it. A light brush against her back, and then it's gone. It's then Jane realizes that their suspect still has his eyes set on Maura, and though the little contact may pass as off accidental to others, she knows it's something different.

Jane waits a few minutes, making slight movements around the room as she gradually steps out into the hall. The moment she turns around she's facing Maura. "You dyed your hair." She starts, pushing them a little further out of sight.

Maura's hand instinctively pats at her bun. "Temporarily. To fit the part." She smiles as she hands Jane their suspect's glass. "I'm sure his finger print will suffice for that paternity test you and Korsak wanted. If not that, his saliva is on the rims of this glass, and if not that," Maura sets the glass down on an edge nearby, pulling something out from the side of her hip. "We have this."

She looks at the small vile with a questionable expression. "Please don't tell me you're a vampire." Jane groans, giving into the insanity of art.

"It's from one of his displays. He sculpted a gargoyle and inserted fang-shaped viles in the mouth filled with his very own blood. So, voici." She hands it over to Jane, but becomes disappointed when she doesn't take it. "Come on, Jane."

"No, Maura. That is _beyond_-" But before she can end her sentence in disgust, she hears a voice approach them calling Maura by a rather professional title. And when Jane sees the slightest panic in her friend's eyes, she grabs the vile along with Maura's wrist. And when the voice finally rounds the corner, she's pressed "Dr. Isles" against the wall.

Her hand - originally supposed to hold down the other woman's head - is considerate of all the effort put into perfecting that bun and grabs at her neck. She knows how to control her tension so while it looks harsh to their suspect, her wrap around Maura's neck is rather soft. Her other hand holds both of her wrists together, and before Jane can use the "cop voice" their suspect has already spoken.

"Dr. Isles, I don't mean to-" He stops quickly in his tracks at the sight of the two women. While Maura looks at him apologetically, Jane pays no attention, muttering an explanation of the current procedure. "I don't mean to interrupt whatever _this_ may be." He says, slower, staying rooted in his spot.

Jane pays a fraction of attention and catches the slight arousal in the man's eyes. "I'm sorry to be doing this during your opening night, Sir, but it's standard procedure." And before Maura can protest in-character, Jane lets her grip go and begins patting her down. She works her way from the bottom up, trying not to glide her hands over those legs that were sculpted but at the same time so smooth. Allowing herself to only go so high, she moves from mid-thigh to Maura's hips, grabbing rougher than intended. Before an apology slips through Jane's lips she hears the woman under her touch exhale a sharp breath.

She continues in her frisk, grabbing at her waist that seems to perfectly fit around her grip, and then up and down the sides of her arms. She doesn't really know why she's patting down bare skin, but in all fairness Maura doesn't really seem to mind. They were just selling the part.

Jane continues until the sight gets boring. Until some woman in striking resemblance to Dita Von Teese passes by their suspect and he's swept away. Until they're alone again. Until Jane makes a rather odd observation, because the moment the rest of the world is gone, she feels a heat emanate from the skin her hands touch.

And before she can fully come to reason, Maura pushes herself off the wall, bumping back into Jane. And before those gladiator heels betray her and allow her to stumble back, Jane's hands are on her hips. And before either of them can really acknowledge the proximixty of their positions, Jane's turned Maura around and steadied her stance. And just before their minds begin to comprehend the situation, shots fire, and Jane and Maura shed their casual identites off, stepping into a potential crime scene as Rizzoli and Isles.

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><p>So ends the first chapter of this six-part story. Hopefully those of you reading liked it! This is my second Rizzoli and Isles story, but my first romance, so I'll be taking this one slow. Hope you stick around for more, I'd love to know what you're thinking, and have a lovely day!<p> 


	2. Precautions

I'd like to thank all those for reading, reviewing and putting this story on their favourites and alerts list. Also to those who added me as their favourite author, thank you, it means the world to me!

Most people who reviewed got a reply back but to anyone else reading, this will _not_ be a PWP/pure-smut kind of story. I'm trying to make it into a legitimate romance that will "blossom" with every chapter. Hopefully you all like what's to come and that it's also believable! For now, enjoy!

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><p><strong>Precautions<strong>

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><p>Maura taps lightly at her watch, wrist folded over the other as she waits at her desk. Her eyes, though tired, shift rapidly from one edge of the report to the next, and as she passes time by doing nothing at all, one thought wanders into her mind. Maura shifts in her seat as she silently corrects herself. One <em>name<em>.

Jane.

It had been weeks since their undercover job; exactly seventeen days since that awkward encounter. Because even though the moment was brief and they'd touched each other countless times before, the moment Jane's hands grasped at her hips, Maura knew something had changed. She could have chosen another cover for them, to maybe push Maura away into the room next to them, or walked away pretending not to know her at all, but Jane _chose_ to do _that _to Maura. And it puzzled her.

It still does. She tells herself most of the time that it's because she's a detective. That her instincts just happened to kick in. That because of what Jane was trained to do, it's why her wrists were twisted and her face met the wall. And although she lacks experience in the field, Maura is well aware what a patdown is supposed to be like, and isn't supposed to be like.

Patdowns were defined by two words. Pat and down. What Jane did was defined by two words also. Glide and up. Patdowns, though brief in the areas targetted, packed a punch with grip and invaded personal space. What Jane did, though brief, did _not _glide up the areas targetted and lacked in grip, but still invaded personal space. Patdowns went over clothes and, well.. patted. What Jane did went over Maura's bare skin and, well.. caressed.

What Jane did was not a patdown.

The thing about their friendship though, is that if there is an issue, it will be addressed. The earlier it's addressed, the less stress it causes. The longer it drags on, though, the bigger the explosion. And although it bothers Maura, it doesn't at the same time. And everytime Maura thinks about it, she finds herself just as she is now. Confused.

She shakes the thoughts from her head and tucks a curl behind her ear, wrapping her finger around the end before she lets it bounce into its place. Her eyes flick back to her watch, the long hand pointing north, and just before Maura's mind delves back into thought, she hears a knock. It's soft, and the echo it emits gives her chill. True to her word, Jane arrives on time.

They hadn't seen each other since morning. A case had been thrown their way overtop another, so while Jane ran from one end of the city to the other finding leads, Maura found herself drowned in violence. Quite literally. She'd gone through four bodies throughout the day and had another five to go. Their only form of communication was a text Jane had sent.

_I'll be by around eight. Don't be fancy._

She looks down at her attire and out of reflex her hands slide down the fronts of her thighs. It then occurs to her she isn't wearing a skirt or a dress, but pants. Jane did tell her to not be fancy, and this is as unfancy as Maura Isles gets. She reaches over the sofa to pick up Jane's folded sweats and an open bottle of her beer on the coffee table, all while she makes her way to the door. As suspected her friend displays a frown, but it soon turns upright when she presents what's in her hands.

"Comfort," Maura holds up the blend of cotton and polyester, "and consolation." Her other hand offers the beverage to her friend, its proximity to Jane coinciding with the width of her smile.

"Thank you." Is all she says, and that alone makes Maura match her smile.

Once Jane is changed and downed her beer at a rather fast pace, she leads Maura to the door, eager emotion trembling in her eyes. It wants to get out as much as Jane wants to jump out and into her car. Maura recognizes it immediately but sees no reason to panic. If she'd been afraid, her fingers would be picking at her nails and brushing at her scar. But she isn't, so instead Maura takes a step forward and breathes; loud enough to let her know she's listening but soft enough that it isn't misinterpreted as impatience.

Jane runs a hand through her dark, thick curls. "Ma's seeing someone."

"That's wonderful!" Maura says after a beat, the thought processing quickly through her mind. Jane shoots her a _you're-supposed-to-groan-with-me_ look, but Jane knows better than that. Maura is honest, and because she's honest she repeats her first thought and first feeling once more.

But when the silence prevails in excess of her optimism, she finally sees the distress in the other woman's stance; the craned neck, the weighed down shoulders - the right is slighty straighter than the left, and through the dark olive shirt she imagines the new layer of skin wrinkling. "But you don't think it is." Maura finally says. Jane sighs into her hands, plopping down onto the first stair. "You've always been talking about your Mother needing to get back on to the game, so why are moping when she's done exactly what you wanted?"

"In." Jane says, and the response confuses Maura. "It's _in_, Maur. Get back _in_ to the game. And I'm not moping. I'm just..."

"Protective?" She finishes, nodding that all knowing nod. "I know you are, Jane. I know, but you have to let her carry her own weight. Think of how irritated you get when she prods you with dates, and think of how close you feel to losing your edge when she begins to criticize them." Jane nods, face still buried in her palms. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She adds in, the light joke causing the dark head to snap up in response.

"You did _not_ just say that."

Maura simply smiles and saunters her way to the closet, still aware of Jane's decision to hold the conversation so close to the door. She reaches far into the back of her closet and pulls out wedged boots. "Will what we be doing tonight require a lot of tip-toe action?" She puts them on without an answer, intentionally making her question an acceptance of her friend's unsaid request.

Jane rises from her slouched position, shedding the misery as she jumps into her shoes. "He's waiting at the cafè for Ma to finish closing. We have an hour."

The drive, although quick, allow the gears in Maura's head to move a little faster, and it isn't until Jane shuts the engine off that doubt clouds her mind. "Are you sure this is-"

"You agreed." Jane reminds flatly. No sass, no whine, no nothing and before Maura can protest, the genuine worry in the woman's eyes make her head nod once more. To jump from doubt to complete trust is something Maura never does. Perhaps leaving a trail of uncertainty in her wake, but to switch the insecurity off like she just did? This is the first time, and the only person Maura's ever considered to allow such control of her was Jane. Because as good as her own intentions are, she knows Jane's are just the same. It's the expression of their intentions that differ, and it's what fascinates Maura the most about her friend.

She nods again and quietly steps out of the car. Within minutes Jane's unhinged the lock of a window and they've crawled in. This Leo that Jane's Mother hadn't stop talking about seems clean. She observes the tension in Jane's shoulders release with each step taken further into his home; seeing framed photos of family, paintings that're his and paintings he had bought. Maura notices one in particular, and the content combined with choice of frame gives Leo a point in her books.

Jane, though, treats the space like a crime scene. Not really touching anything but closely observing. Circling around an area a few times before moving onto whatever catches her eye next.

Amidst their current law breaking and the panic that Maura would usually suspect herself of feeling by now (but surprisingly didn't), she smiles. She's grateful for the darkness as it conceals other emotions surfacing above her skin, emanating around her. She's nearly out of it when Jane turns on her heel. "Find anything weird?"

Maura shakes her head, a little flustered as she looks to the nearest photo. "He seemed like a good coach for the little league baseball team back in eighty-four." It takes all of her will power to not wipe away the dust on the glass. "Nothing really screams danger here to me."

"Alright." Jane nods, and in the dark but selectively lighted room, Maura sees fingers picking at nails.

She stops them before they begin to pick at the scar in her palm. "Then what's scaring you?" She takes hold of Jane's wrist softly, doing her best to pry them away from one another.

Close enough to feel the trepidation in her sigh, Maura tightens her grip on the woman's wrist as her ears listen to the words of worry. "I just don't want anything to happen to her."

"And nothing won't."

And before either one decides whether to continue the snooping or call it off, a sound outside startles them both. A howling laugh approaches their direction, the small crack of the window allowing the sound to reach far into their ears, ringing out in familiarity. It's then Jane realizes it's her Mother, and within seconds the reassuring grip Maura has on her friend's wrist is reversed, and she's being pulled in all directions with panic.

"What the hell are they doing here!" Jane flicks her watch as the time reads true, cursing under her breath at the unpredictability her Mother. "They aren't supposed to be here for another forty minutes!" She continues to pace and stop, causing Maura to ocasionally bump into her numerous times. When the stairs are omitted along with the bathroom due to excessive sound and far distance from escape, Jane freezes with a blank look on her face.

Then everything comes back to Maura. They're trespassing, they're snooping, they're betraying Angela's trust and they're breaking the law. The last thought sends her body into survival mode, because if there is anything Maura fears, it's the law. As secure as it's supposed to make one feel, the people who try and provide that safety are the ones deprived of the privilege. Because Jane's protected her countless times, and she hasn't done a single thing worthy in returning the favour. So Maura does what Jane's helped her do and acts fast on her feet, and even though leading someone into safety wasn't quite her forte, it's what Jane needs her to do now.

This is something she can do for her best friend.

So she takes the frozen brunette with one hand as she drags them to the door, only to turn and reach for the closet door adjacent to it. She creaks it open and shoves Jane in along with herself, and within moments of hiding, the front door swings open. And before either can acknowledge the fact that Angela is a mere foot away from them, whispering things her daughter and daughter's friend shouldn't hear, the pain in Maura's foot causes her to shift uncomfortably.

And it's then Maura realizes she's pressed against Jane completely, save for their heads that were as far from each other as possible. Her right hand rests between their bodies and lies flat against Jane's abdomen. Her left foot is hovering just above the small carpeted area, trying not to rest on whatever sharp edge it had the misfortune of stepping on earlier. Her left forearm is pressed against the wall, next to Jane's head that does its best to turn away. Her right toe touches the wall, and before Maura can really come to the conclusion that in order for her toe to be touching that, her leg would have to be in between both of Jane's, Angela snorts out a laugh, leading Leo up the stairs as they babble on about their days.

When the bedroom door shuts from upstairs, Maura's had enough time to take in just how close she is to Jane, and knows very well how her right toe can touch the wall she's pressed the woman upon.

She's now the frozen one, surprised to find herself in this position. Yet what surprises her more is the look on the other woman's face, or lack thereof. Jane still has that blank look over her features, though her body full of tension says something different. "Uh, Maura." She finally says, just below a whisper. Maura nods, and when Jane utters out a breath of pain, it's then she realizes where her hand is placed. She muffles her apologetic gasp and uses her forearm to push herself off in the small space.

"I'm so sorry, Jane." She quickly says, her voice laced with shock and guilt. "I'm sorry." Her hand then places itself back over the scar, wiping over the thin shirt as her apologies lower in volume. When her other hand opens the closet door quietly and then the door on the way out, she finds her hand still at Jane's side. It's only when they get to her car a few blocks down that Maura lets go and shuts her lips close, preventing another apology from escaping.

The apology, though, is for herself and the fact that she had to let go so soon.

It isn't until she's in her bed, wide awake at two in the morning that this thought occurs, and it isn't until the sun rises that her analytical mind wears her out into a fitful sleep.

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><p>So ends the second part of this story. Hope you all liked it! Leaving reviews aren't necessary but are <strong>welcome<strong> as I run on them for inspiration. Hope it's developing well for you as I see it in my head. Have a lovely day, wherever you may be!


	3. Classy Badass

Thank you for the constant support with your reviews and alerts! I've replied to the reviews I was able to (some had their PM feature disabled). This is quite a lengthy chapter (literally 1,000 words more than the last two), but it was necessary since it's.. well, you'll see. And to the **Anon** who asked, yes, there will be smut. The rating will change soon enough. But for now, I hope you enjoy the third part of this story!

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><p><strong>Classy Badass<strong>

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><p>"Can I just make this clear for myself?" Jane asks, her hands pushing a wave of air between the spaces of her fingers. "You want me," a finger jabs at her chest, "to teach you," she redirects it to Maura, "how to use a gun?"<p>

Curls tied together by a small band move together in a nod, green eyes examining a bruise with closer inspection. "Yes." Maura replies. She scrapes off dried fluid into a vile and sets it aside, pulling off her gloves shortly thereafter. "But no." Stepping away from their John Doe, she circles the table and sets herself square to Jane. The face she makes, which is a mixture of utter confusion and growing irritation, causes the coroner to continue. "I passed my firearms test a month ago."

Jane's lips form an open pout as the information works it's way through her mind. "Okay, _one_," Her index finger rises, counting off her broken thoughts. "_I_ could have taught you whatever you learned there, and _then _some. _Two_," her middle finger accompanies the incoming words, "if you already did pass your firearms test, why are you asking me all of this?" She gestures to the open space between them and it's then she notices their distance. In fact, with each encounter the past week, Jane's noticed it become farther nearly every time.

"_One_," Maura repeats, adding emphasis but lacking the sass, "I wanted to learn it the way you learned it. _Legally_. And _two_," She rocks back on one foot as her voice lowers in volume, "you're the best." Her head tilts in that timid way it tilts, and while those green eyes avoid contact with her brown ones, Jane begins to feel the sense of respect from the other woman. Between the two of them, Maura usually gets the praise. She gets the _oh-the-amount-you-had-to-study-and-your-dedication-to-your-work _speech countless times. Jane was complimented as well, but nowhere near to the extent of her friend. So the recognition Maura gives her - the timid praise and the acknowledgment of her work - it causes a warmth to emanate despite her lackluster day, and also to crack a smile. She comes to a blank as to how to respond. So instead of attempting to stutter out irrelevancy or worse, sarcasm, she shifts her position on the empty table. Her back, which was perched earlier, is now straight. She smiles from the flattery, an inch closer towards agreeing to whatever Maura has in mind.

Maura notices the change and begins to pry. "So?"

It was an unusually odd request, especially from Maura. It was unusually odd and also unusually out of the blue, but the more time Jane spends with the woman, the more she realizes that these unusual things are, in fact, things to expect. "So?" Jane teases, her repetitiveness buying time as she tries to understand the real reason.

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"_Jane._"

"_Maura_."

And then it happens. Somewhere between her innocent teasing and deflating sense of humour, she's hurt Maura's feelings. The head that tilts with hope now bows down in fatigue, and it's then - when she sighs and closes her eyes - that Jane realizes the depth of the woman's struggle with the night. Yet it also strikes her odd how the dark circles only emphasize her beauty, and perhaps, the price it pays to be Maura Isles. "Maura." Jane repeats once more. The worry in her voice causes her friend to look up, and the apology in the dark rims of her eyes meet the fear encircled in the other woman's. "Why?" Her emotion levels with the uneasiness she begins to feel. Jane's gaze locks into Maura's until, finally, she relents, her shoulders sinking with a quiet exhale.

"It's not why." She mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of her scrubs.

Her brows furrow as the curiosity causes her to slide off the table, nearing herself in distance. When the buzz of the freezer and hum of the monitor overpower the breaths of her friend, she speaks again, trying not to let her impatience slip out. "Then what is it?"

"It's.. it's not necessarily a-"

"Maura just say it!" The volume of her voice even surprises her, and for once, Jane winces with Maura. She doesn't mean to sound upset, to sound angry; her anger is a result of worry. And when Jane worries, she worries, _hard_. So here she is, in the middle of an autopsy room with John Doe, worrying hard for Maura, and though she knows her ambiguity is a guard when speaking close to her heart, it isn't doing anything but fueling Jane's anger. But before a second can pass by with this quick thought - before she can even utter out an apology, she receives a shout right back.

"I can't always have you!"

Jane's neck cocks back as the words echo out around them.

"I can't always have you there, Jane. I don't like being the damsel in distress." Maura says, swallowing the remnants of her indignation. It causes her voice to lower. "You can't always protect me."

Jane's hands, that lay limp at her sides, now grab the shorter woman by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Maur. It's my_ job_ to protect people. But even before _this_," her eyes drop down to her badge for a brief moment, "I've always protected people that I care about. It's what I _know_, and _you_," her head lowers down to level with Maura's, "you don't deserve to be hurt." But she knows; Jane knows that the destructive obligation she feels to protect Maura isn't at all normal.

Maura lapses her hands over the ones that squeeze her small frame. Nodding, she speaks slowly with thought but also with the intention to try and be understood. "And neither do _you_, Jane. This.. this protection.." she looks up at her with concern, "it's one-sided. It may be your job to protect others, but you shouldn't be the only one protecting yourself. You don't deserve to always have your guard up and - and not know how to put it down later when someone tries to tell you something like..." she stops, swallowing the rising anxiety in her voice as she tries to slow down the words that roll off her tongue. The silence that follows is anything but intentional. "I want to protect myself, and I want to protect you."

Jane feels the uncertainty and she feels the care and she feels... something else, the latter overwhelming her to the point where she has to close her eyes. A twitch at the corner of her lips appears nonetheless. "You don't need a gun to protect me, Maur."

"I..." The vowel - the possessiveness of it, the lack of effort it takes to be voiced - is filled with hesitation. It's exhaled with such a heavy sigh that Jane _knows_ there's more. But when Maura takes another breath in, the words are lighter, hiding the rest of her worry. "I know, but, I do look badass with a gun." The natural curve of her lips turn up with more effort than usual. Jane lets it slide, trusting in the woman that when she's ready she'll say whatever it really is. But for now all she does is nod, mirrors the smile and makes a note to book Saturday off. She lets Maura know after their hug to do the same, lingering a little longer at the door before she finally gets back to their case.

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><p><em>I can't always have you!<em>

It's the structure that interests Jane, and the tone as well. It was said with disappointment rather than fear, realization rather than admittance, and frustration above all else. The five words pop up into her mind a couple times a day, but when Saturday comes and she's packing what she needs in her trunk, she's lost count.

Four days with those words can do many things to you, one of them to drive you insane.

So while Maura sleeps at night, Jane's been doing nothing of the sorts. She spends the first night planning what to do, drawing stick figures and the items on the back of undesired reports. The second day, she leaves work early without a word and buys what she remembers on her list; Jo had used the last two pages as a toilet. The third night is spent awake at home as she empties cans and Googles muscle masses. She spends a few minutes of each night wondering why she's going to all this trouble. She then discards the thought because she's realized a lot that she doesn't question her actions when it comes to Maura.

Because it's Maura.

The only person she knows who puts up with her shenanigans on and off the job. The only person to willingly put their trust in her. The only person who can differ her sarcasm from her bitterness. The only person who would go undercover with her, and most definitely the only person who would accompany her on a break-in of her Mother's new manfriend.

She buckles her seatbelt and shifts the gear as she pulls out into the road, checking off whatever is on her mental checklist.

Maura is also the only person to take control when Jane can't seem to find any, and she's definitely the only person to have ever shoved Jane into a closet. She's finally the only person that's ever touched her scars. Some have touched them without the intention to when they shake her hand or accidentally brush against her side in a crowded area. But Jane has never _allowed _anyone to. So when Maura tries to calm her down and brushes at her scar before Jane can, it's because she's allowing her to. And that's what Maura doesn't understand; that she already does protect Jane - with her words.

Those are stronger than any bullet she can shoot.

She's also let Maura touch the scar from the shooting. The first time, though, was unintentional. It hurts. Even if it's been a year and the new skin is beginning to blend in with the old, it still hurts. But Jane puts up with it because she hates physiotherapy.

The little things, like leaning over a counter to reach for something, hurt. So when _Maura_ - a force entirely different from solid marble - is pressed against her scar, it _hurts_. But Jane realized, later the same night of the incident, that what hurts more is her inability to touch back. Her body's response when every curve of the woman pressed against hers was incomprehensible. Parts of her felt warm from the contact, but the other parts were cold. Particularly her heart at the growing awareness.

Her eyes shift from the road to the empty seat next to her, and as she pulls herself out of her thoughts, she realizes she's here. She watches Maura lock her front door before turning away, and the smile she beams in her direction is infectious. More so than the one she gave their suspect while undercover. Jane returns it as she unlocks the passenger door, and before Maura can even buckle her seatbelt she's driven off.

Jane suppresses the questions firing out of her friend's mouth with the only station she knows that plays classical music. To her surprise, it works. Maura sits next to her, humming to whatever dead composer's song as she fidgets with her fingers. Jane knows that though she may be quiet now, it only makes her first vocalization in the near future much more overwhelming.

So she drives.

Fast.

Then, when she's mastered the art of driving "normally" in the areas where she knows has cops, and when she's exited onto the highway only to be led into an area of fields, Jane slows down. Her eyes search for a decent area, the light of the sun nearly blinding her. But when the process becomes tedious and little facts like, "Boston is known to have," and "the rate of murder in an area like this," begin to spew out uncontrollably, Jane brings the car to a halt.

A field is a field, Jane figures.

When she's convinced Maura that her boots won't get dirty and that the car is in fact safe, they walk out into the field. The bags she carries burden her, and her stubborn pride to take them herself only gets them so far.

"This'll do." Jane says, her words heavy as she pants. She sets the bags down, begins to unzip them, and before Maura can ask why there's so many cans on wooden sticks, Jane's already walking away. She hears a faint "_what are you doing?"_ from behind her as she does her best to not tumble over with the heavy weight on her left shoulder. She plows each one down in the ground sporadically around them, still making sure to vary the distance. The closer she becomes as she jogs back to her friend, the clearer the expression is on her face.

Confusion with a side of, "_that's it?_"

"You said you wanted to do it the way I learned it." Jane shrugs.

"Yes, I did. But I meant _legally_, Jane."

"Isn't this legal?" She asks with genuine interest. "Don't answer that. I know this looks like kid stuff. Maybe even illegal stuff. But it's the best way to learn."

Maura looks at her with a tinge of disbelief. "Shooting cans-"

"They're not just _any _cans." Jane interrupts. "I anticipated your reaction, so I Maura-fied this lesson. As you see," she points out to the array of cans, "they're all different sizes. They're also far apart from each other and the sticks are different heights." She looks back to her friend. "You following?"

Maura, with a slight hint of disappointment in herself for not understanding, shakes her head. "I'm afraid I'm not. How is this supposed to help with strengthening my ability to shoot at someone if, God forbid, that were to happen?"

Jane holds in a sigh, redirecting her way of thought. "You see that can?" She pulls her gun out from her holster, pointing at a can labelled with crushed tomatoes. "The average man is around five foot eight, give or take a few inches." Her statement utters a look of mild disapproval from Maura.

An estimate isn't part of Maura Isles' life.

"The New York Times wrote a report in 1912 about the averaged height between murderers, and they claimed it to be five foot six." The woman corrects, the intonation at the end of her sentence implying curiosity.

"Maura, it's still an average. Just-" she waves her gun back to the can, "just go along with me here, okay?"

Closing the endless pool of knowledge in her mind, she nods, focusing on the target.

"That's where his arm would be. The size of the can is the area you wanna go for, and at this distance, it's what you wanna aim for that won't cause much damage but temporarily injure him. The can," Jane continues, "is filled with stuff like liquid, cloth - _whatever _I could find that was close to matching the muscle mass. Just so you get the idea how the distance affects the through and through. That one over there is-"

Her explanation is cut off by a hand at her shoulder, feeling fingers wrapping firmly around it. "You actually did this," Maura says, her words projecting out to the cans, "for me?"

Jane turns around and blinks. The thought hasn't really occurred to her until now, but for what she knows, "Yeah, I did." She replies with simplicity. "Those posters you're taught to shoot at only train you to kill. And I know you, Maur. You don't have an evil bone in your body. _Badass_, sure, but evil?" She tilts her head in a joking manner.

The next few seconds are nothing but a blur and great damage to her ear drums. The shorter woman pulls her into a jumping embrace, and her tiny squeals of delight that accompany each jump deafen and amuse Jane at the same time.

Once Maura is calm, she releases her from the tight embrace. "Thank you." She mumbles, a little embarrassed before patting down her shirt.

Jane tucks a wave of dark hair behind an ear as she smiles at the gratitude. Once she's explained the purpose of all seventeen cans, she sets her gun down to reach for one more item in the bags. But before she's able to reach for the zipper, she hears metal clank with metal. Jane turns around to find Maura's ring clad finger wrapping around her gun. "Woah, woah," she pries it slowly away from the rather strong grip, "what're you doing?"

"I'm getting ready." Maura answers, the confusion beginning to seep into the furrow of her brows.

"_No_," Jane says, putting her gun back in her holster, "this is _my_ gun." Her correction is taken for possessiveness, and before she can avoid seeing the disappointment in Maura's face, she turns around to unzip the bag and pulls out a wooden box. She hands it to the woman immediately. "_This_," her finger taps gently on the wood, "is yours."

Maura looks down in confusion, then up with incredulity, then back down with an open mouth. Before she can utter out a word Jane takes the liberty of lifting it open. She really doesn't like it when people do the whole _you-did-not_ speech. Because she obviously did. She obviously did get Maura her own gun and the physical proof is obviously there.

Maura picks up the sleek revolver as her other hand closes the box, eyes never leaving her newest possession. And for some reason, while wide eyes examine it with awe, Jane becomes nervous. She shoves her hands into her pockets. "You do look badass with a gun like mine, but with this I guess you'd look kind of like..." she trails off as she tries to find the right word to describe the woman, "like a.. classy badass."

For a moment Maura doesn't reply. She just looks at the revolver with a passion so intense it almost begins to worry Jane. The silence begins to bother her, and in an attempt to soothe her own nerves she starts explaining the legality of it all. "Thank Korsak too. He's got a buddy that helped me pick it out and let me register it under your name. All paid for. I have the rest of the ammunition in the bag, and your holster-"

"I love it."

And that's all it takes to subside the rest of her worries. Maura repeats her gratitude in many different ways until Jane takes the box and sets it aside, interrupting her somewhere between her eleventh _thank-you_. "You're welcome." She smiles, points her head out to the cans and signals for her to go.

But before she can even specify which can to aim for, Maura's stance stops her. It's all wrong. The arms, the shoulders, even the way her head is positioned. Jane, though, is forgiving as she quickly realizes how much emotion still resides in the woman's body. So instead of critiquing her with words, Jane corrects her with actions. It's a reflex. When words fail to help get her point across, she relies on her body to take control. And what it does now - the way it steps behind Maura, the way her arms wrap around the outsides of Maura's, the way her fingers wrap around Maura's, the way her head rests on Maura's shoulder and the way she whispers instructions into Maura's pearl clad ear - it feels natural to her.

And for a moment, _just for a moment_, Jane feels tension beneath her. It then disappears as soon as it comes.

They shoot. They hit. They shoot again. They hit again. She watches as Maura takes control and shoots at a target with nothing less than a perfect aim. And then, when she begins to pull away, fighting the desire to drag her fingers up the woman's bare arms, Jane feels a thumb hold her finger in place. So she stays that way - hunched over with her head resting on Maura's right shoulder.

Because there isn't anything wrong with helping her friend improve her aim, even if it is perfect. There isn't anything wrong with making sure her posture is correct, either. There isn't anything wrong, but there also isn't anything _right_ about how her body reacts.

It's only when the cylinder is empty that she finally pulls away, overcome with a sudden feeling of regret.

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><p>So ends the third part of this story. Hopefully you all liked it! A thought on it would be more than wonderful as it's my fuel for writing (any type of feedback, aside from flames, is welcome). I hope you all stick around to its end and have a lovely day, wherever you may be!<p> 


	4. Fooled

First of all, I'd like to apologize for the eight day wait. I've been on my reading week but since Opening Night for a show I'm in is next week, I've been swamped with rehearsals. Second, thank you all once again for your patience and encouragement. I haven't replied to the reviews for the third chapter _yet_, but for clarification to all, I'd like to say the following:

This story will have six chapters (I'm leaning towards seven for an aftermath of the last physical encounter, but you get the idea). The first five chapters are for the "awkward" physical encounters. The last one(s) are for the not-so-awkward physical encounters, if you know what I mean.

This takes place in season two, but without all the jazz of Maura's biological father.

I've also noticed from the stats that a fair amount of readers are from France, and I can already see little slips of the language in some reviews. **Don't hesitate to review in French! **I understand the language well and can reply quite decently since I'm working towards a degree in that.

Lastly, thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, favourites and constant encouragement. Your reviews have given me fuel to flesh this chapter out to my best ability (and also to create outlines for more R&I stories, woo). Hope this chapter makes up for the long wait! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Fooled<strong>

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><p>Maura, when put into a situation under the right circumstances, has the ability to act fast.<p>

When a life is lost and the vessel in which it lived lays on her table, she knows that whatever she finds is a key to catching their killer. The silence of her patient fuels her desire to give them closure. And with that, Maura's mind can easily put the pieces together and work towards a solution. It's why she does what she does, and _where_ she does it is a big contribution as to why she's so successful.

The autopsy room. The morgue.

For places that lack such life it's the places where Maura feels most alive in, no pun intended. Maura gains a privilege in saying what they can't, and seeing what others don't with the silence of her work. The silence allows her to get under their skin and get a glimpse as to what their last moments must have been like. The silence allows her to heal them - to stitch their wounds closed and give them justice. The silence, above all else, allows her to find the truth.

But when there's chaos, say a detective screaming pleas in her ear to save her wounded brother, all the pieces come to a halt. It's in that moment - when the distress forces them to wander away from each other and fall from Maura's grip - when she begins to feel helpless. It's only when she's pushed that she ever breaks from her impotent state. But when no one is there to push her and the panic surrounds her alone, it creeps its way inside, down to her bones and rattles her very core.

So it comes as a surprise to her that the moment she arrives home and hears a scream of help, her mind and body react in one fluid action, agreeing to find the source of distress. The tone is unmistakable and the huskiness is evident despite the higher octave. She knows it's Jane, and that alone is perhaps the reason why she doesn't react the way she usually does. Dropping her belongings where they are and quickly pulling her gun out from her cabinet, Maura steels herself. When her shoulders drop and her neck cranes into position, a sudden nostalgia waves over her. It's almost as if Jane isn't calling out for help, as if she's still behind her, ghosting over her frame; she can still feel the light grip of her fingers, the security of her body enveloping hers and the hair brushing against her cheek. And before she can indulge herself with that voice whispering in her ear, Maura hears another cry for help. She shakes the memory off and pockets it for another time.

Maura navigates her way around her home, and when the living room and study come up empty, she finds herself in the kitchen, pointing her revolver at an usually odd scene. "Maura- what the _H__ell_?" The question, though laced with confusion, has a tinge of panic. This call for help isn't the kind to be solved with a gun. Seeing no need - and feeling a little disappointed - for the use of her weapon, Maura drops her aim and sets her revolver aside on a counter nearby, eyes never shifting their focus.

Arms fully extended above her head, Jane stands in the middle of the kitchen, holding up a bowl full of water against the ceiling with nothing other than a broomstick. Behind her is a chair pulled from the dining table and just than a few feet away is the kitchen island, the only obstacle in Jane's way being Bass.

She wants to laugh and inquire at the same time, but instead opts for silence at the ridiculous predicament. The frustration is evident in the woman's face; her jaw is clenched, and her eyes that flashed with panic from spotting the gun now return to their stoic state. Maura takes a step forward, mindful of her tone as she finally begins to speak. "May I ask what-"

"_No_." Jane hisses. It takes Maura a moment to recover from the sudden bitterness, but with her proximity, she begins to notice the trembling fatigue in her friend's arm. It immediately dawns on her just how long she must have been here. "I mean," Jane sighs, exhaling any remnants of venom in her words, "I was just finishing up something with Ma when Tommy came by. He came to pick her up and when she was in the car and he was about to leave, he called me here and.." She trails off, eyes shifting from Maura to the ceiling. "And _this_ happened."

Maura tilts her head in an apologetic manner. "It was very thoughtful of you to not drop the bowl on the floor." She says, stepping out of her heels.

"Well, I can't really do that since _he's_ right under it." Jane's lips form a frown as she gestures them down at Bass. "I didn't wanna make a mess either with the water since I don't know how expensive your floors are and-"

"_Jane_." Maura stops the rambles spouting out from her friend, patting lightly at her shoulder. "Let's get this thing down, shall we?" She says as she pulls the chair a little closer. It's only when she's on it that she realizes her height restricts her from being of any help. Her fingers wiggle up in the air as she tries once more to get a grip of the bowl, and when her toes begin to rise with desperation, she hears Jane sigh.

"It's not going to work that way, Maura. You're not tall enough."

"Then let me hold it from-"

"No." Jane immediately says. The tone is different this time, like she's gone over the possibility before, and she most likely has. "You have to hold it exactly from my angle or it'll tip over and we'll get wet."

The image invades Maura's mind despite her better knowing, causing her to tune out for a brief moment. The thought alone of Jane causes her pulse to race, which she finds rather unhealthy and rather bewildering, yet, rather normal. But the normalcy of it doesn't really calm her. If anything, the fact that it's _become_ a normalcy frightens her, and her body has been nothing but useless in helping her mind find a reason.

Especially in their last physical encounter.

The moment Jane's body draped over hers in that field, she remembers feeling panic. Maura remembers feeling needles prick at every pore of her skin and an ice so cold spread over her cheeks that it nearly burned. It was only when she reminded herself what Jane was to her that she exhaled the panic.

Because out of all people, Jane is the person Maura's supposed to feel the safest with; she's a detective _and _her best friend, yet she doesn't feel as safe as she does exposed. Maura often finds herself in a hole of vulnerability when she's with Jane, and with each encounter the hole only gets deeper. And deeper. It's something she's come to notice, and as much as she tries to ignore the amount of times Jane's been an exception to her rules, the awareness of it overpowers the oblivion.

"...can't you just move your turtle?"

Maura fights the urge to correct her, inhaling as much tolerance in before she replies. "I can't simply just push him away, Jane. I have to pick him up, and the weights I lift in the gym don't even account for a small fraction of his weight. Bass will move when he feels like it." And before Jane can sigh again, Maura steps off the chair and circles the kitchen island. "But _I _can move." Despite the fact that her attire and height limit her ability to help, Maura still manages to seat herself (gracefully, of course) on the counter. And _despite_ the fact that she's at the edge of the island and her hands can actually touch the ceiling, the bowl is still out of her reach.

"Tommy's put more thought into this." Maura muses. Though she shouldn't be praising Jane's brother of the effort he's made to pull a prank on her, she's still allowed to _ponder_ on it. She ponders on it until the slight shuffles below both make them shift their focus to Bass.

When no more than a minute passes by and Bass is out of the way, Jane begins to inch closer to the island. "_Finally_." She breathes out a sigh of relief. "Can you squeeze between here?" The request is innocent, like an afterthought as she gestures to the small space Bass once occupied.

"I'm.. I don't think-" And before she continues to stammer out anymore incoherency, the look on Jane's face stops her. The plea in those charcoal eyes triumph her uneasiness with their growing proximity. So Maura nods and swallows her remaining hesitation.

The rest is really out of her control.

Without missing a beat she crouches down and slides off the counter, her body _just _filling the void between them. Just. Because if there's one thing neither thought to consider when taking this next step, it's the fact that Maura is not a tortoise. So the places where Jane is used to having lots of space is the places where Maura fits, almost perfectly, against her body. It's surprising and comforting to Maura all at once. And just before her mind can refute her heart and say that whatever she's feeling is wrong, her body reacts in that way it did before. Only this time do the needles feel like knives, and despite the amount of pain it _should _bring, to Maura, it's never felt so.. _right._

With men she remembers it to feel blocky and straight, leaving spaces in the areas she yearns for closure. But with a woman - with _Jane_, it feels right. The absence of her heels make her shorter than she already is. So when her hips align just below the hollow of Jane's and her breasts graze past the inward curve of the woman's torso, it's then she realizes this fit can't be found anywhere else. Because it just feels right. It feels so right and so fitting that her mind doesn't even bring attention as to how close their faces really are. It's only when Maura feels everything against her jerk does her mind continue to run on rationality.

With Jane's reaction a warm breath brushes down her neck, "Do you, do you mind?" The tone is soft, free of impatience. Maura tears her focus away from their bodies in time to catch Jane indicating above their heads. She nods, more vigorously than she should, and mimics the grip on the broom. It forces Maura to lapse her hand over Jane's - light enough that the tired hands can pull away, but tight enough that the change in pressure doesn't make the bowl tip over. They accomplish this exchange, perhaps taking a little longer than they should. Jane isn't really complaining, though. And neither is Maura.

When Jane is finally able to free herself from the torture of Tommy, she immediately climbs on the chair, stretching as far as she can to finally get the bowl down. Though it only lasts a few seconds, it's something that can stretch into an eternity in Maura's mind. It's only with Jane's stretch does the end of the fitting shirt come loose from beneath her belt, the sliver of tan skin haunting her eyes. She watches as the muscles underneath the fabric flex and shift, and right when the shadows of Jane's bellybutton come into view, it disappears. She's off the chair now, motioning for Maura to bring her arms down.

It's when Jane's emptying the bowl in the sink that she becomes aware of how saddened she feels with their distance. The fact that Jane can walk away at any given moment and leave her alone with these thoughts frightens her. At this point, any company is good company. So she creates conversation from panic, and when it fails and Maura finds herself speechless, the tap shuts off and Jane turns around.

"Are we okay?"

The three words make Maura more nervous than she should be; it brings her mind to a numb and a heat to spread across her back, and though this process of fear is more time consuming than anything she's ever felt, her lips reply as quickly as her body reacts. "Pardon?"

"Maura?"

When Maura dodges questions, she _dodges _them, and it usually irritates Jane. But her tone now - the softness in it, the curiosity and the plea - she's heard it a handful of times before, yet her ears never really get tired of the sound. She looks up at the calling of her designation, and when her eyes level with Jane's, the restlessness becomes evident. "Jane?" She says back.

Her silence says it all. The stillness in her body screams it, and when an arm so usually full of strength limply gestures at the excessive space between them, Maura knows what's about to happen. "Are _we_ okay?" Jane repeats. "I feel distant from you."

"Jane," she starts, and though the words haven't rolled off her tongue just yet, she knows what they are and that they shouldn't be said. Yet she finds herself continuing. "You were hunched over me last week helping me shoot a can of beans, and just _now _you were-" but before Maura can stop herself from saying what doesn't need to be said, what she notices from across stops her mid-sentence. The mere mention of their contact makes Jane shift. It gives Maura a tint of courage to pursue the topic on her mind - that she hasn't been the only one _noticing_ these things, _feeling_ these things. Yet the rationality inside makes her feel paranoid. What if it's all in her head? What if it's unrequited?

She compromises with a vague approach.

"I'm sorry." Maura begins, taking a quiet step forward. "I think the distance you've been feeling is because of me. Have you ever.." she stops - suddenly realizing the metaphor in her mind is of no use - and redirects her sentence, "Remember when I said there are some things I can't talk about because they make me sad?" The admittance brings a sudden wave of pain running back in her veins.

Jane mirrors her step, pushing herself off the counter. "Like..." Her head gestures over to the area in the kitchen where Ian had operated on her toe.

"Yes. Like Ian." Maura nods, fiddling with the tips of her fingers. Thinking about him doesn't pain her as much anymore. "But lately I've come to realize that there are more things that make me sad, and just thinking about those things.. it hurts. It hurts to the point where I have to leave my body and detach myself from everyone. It makes me distant." She takes a step further, pushing down the threat of tears. "It brings me to this place, this.. this limbo. I'm stuck wondering if my time spent there is taken for reticence here, and I'm sorry that it's translated into that for you. I don't ever mean to hold anything back from you Jane, but I need to understand myself before anyone else can."

She knows it's a lot to process. It's taken her this long just to be _ambiguous_ to Jane about it, so Maura only expects silence to come for the next few moments. What she doesn't expect is a swift response. "I understand." Jane says, the simplicity and the immediacy in which it's said surprising Maura, "and I'll sit with you until you understand."

And Jane does.

It's only a few hours into the night does Maura come to fully understand the very reason for her sadness, and the fact that it's sitting right beside her only deepens her sorrow.

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><p>So ends the fourth part of this story. This prank is actually very simple yet it elicits the worst in people. It's happened to me before, so I write from experience the frustration and fatigue. Yet I lack the lovely experience Jane has with becoming free from it. I think I had a particularly hard time with this chapter because it was written in Maura's point of view, and she's <em>very<em> hard for me to get a grasp of. I literally spent the other day reading about _and_ watching autopsies just to get a sense of how Maura views people. I apologize for the long wait and I hope you all liked this chapter! Leave some words here if you can and have a lovely day, wherever you may be!


	5. May I?

I sincerely hope this 4,000+ word chapter will make up for over two weeks of absence. If not, perhaps the fact that the entire chapter is written out with Jane and Maura very close to each other will make up for it? If not, then maybe the end where something really cute happens? I just hope one of these things will make it worth the wait. I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>May I?<strong>

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><p>Jane can count off what she's afraid of with one hand. The hidden fear of heartbreak and death of her loved ones come often, like they should, especially in her line of work. She is human, after all. She is allowed to feel afraid, to feel like at any moment the rug can be pulled from beneath her feet. She is <em>allowed<em>, but it doesn't necessarily mean she's alright with it. Jane does all she can to keep her fears at bay; she doesn't invest in a relationship unless she sees its worth; she'd rather go risk her life than endanger one in her family. It's just the way she's always done it. But one thing Jane _never _expects to be afraid of is herself. Her instincts are what she's always trusted and her body's always protected her. Others, even. But beneath all the skin, all the muscle and all the bone, there's that place inside of her that she knows can't control. At least not for long.

Her behavior at best is tolerable, and she knows how to control it even when it reaches that level of unshakable anger.

The way she becomes around Maura, though, is something different. The way her eyes become glassy, the way her knees tremble and the way her chest tightens even at the _thought _of Maura has the ability to send her over the edge. Yet it isn't until the night that she allows herself to do such a thing.

Sometimes it's with a hand around a pillow, embracing it like she would with Maura if given the chance. Sometimes it's with a hand trailing down her body, between the valley of her breasts and eventually to the treasure between her legs. And sometimes, it's with a hand to her face, wiping furiously at the frustration and confusion that flows unforgivingly from her eyes.

Whatever it may be, Jane pockets that facet of her behavior. She saves it for a time of privacy, a time of solitude - a time where only she can work out the knots that tie her down without breaking them. She wants to go a day without feeling the marks on her wrists sink further. She wants to go a day without having to make the choice to numb herself from these feelings. She just wants to get through the day. And though her desire for controlling her behavior grows each day, the actual power she has over it dwindles.

When the floor no longer separates them and Maura's jumped out from her thoughts, coming into her line of vision, she becomes snippy. She avoids as much contact she can, cutting out the affection in her gestures and words to push the woman away. And it's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She knows better than to neglect the one person who makes the effort of a friendship. But Jane sees no other option.

Like Maura, she has to understand herself - especially what she's feeling - before anyone else can.

Though her cold attitude can be well explained to a point validity, the cold they're currently in has no explanation other than misfortune. With a stalled car on the eve of a holiday, the closest repair shop had been Giovanni's. Even after the warning their last experience was with his skills, and as much as they tried to find alternatives, the weather just wouldn't let them go any further.

On the steps of the stairs Jane finds her anger frozen. She then stifles herself in the cold wind, numb fist pounding loudly at the door. It isn't until she feels an equally cold hand stop her, the light grip causing a small heat to spread throughout her body.

"He's- he's not there, Jane." Maura says, unable to control her teeth from chattering. The hand that lapses Jane's retreats back into the pockets of her jacket.

"_Really_, Maur? I didn't get that message from the fifteen minutes we've been standing here." Her voice rises like a crescendo, the anger and frustration most evident in her last word. Maura flashes an understanding look as Jane tries to hold a regretful one back; only Maura knows how Jane's emotions work and she often abuses that knowledge. "Where_ is_ Giovanni?" She shakes the feeling off, exposing a sliver of skin between the cuff of her jacket and glove, covering it as quickly as she reveals it. Before her mind can acknowledge the time and begin to panic at how wrong everything is going today, the anxiety in the voice next to her forces Jane to switch gears. "What?" She asks, setting aside her own panic. She observes the pale complexion of the woman that holds her attention, the sudden shift of emotion beginning to worry her. "Maura?"

"Eighteen minutes." Maura repeats. "We've-we've been out here for eighteen minutes in the coldest weather Boston's received this season, Jane. Mild hypothermia begins to set in when the body's temperature is at ninety-five degrees. With the rate of this wind and the lack of warmth our clothing is providing we could-"

"Hey." Despite the pain it brings to unbend her fingers, Jane releases the balls of her fists into a gentle grip on the woman's shoulders. Her anger dissipates into the cold, the little warmth in her body emanating through the gesture. "We can leave the car here and call a cab."

"On average a taxi takes approximately-"

Jane pulls out her phone, the swift action stopping the doctor's nerves from continuing in their ramble. "Then we shouldn't waste anytime." She says and presses on the speed dial. The gesture alone causes Maura to smile through her panic, and in turn Jane smiles back.

When she's given the address of Giovanni's and she's shoved her phone back into her pocket, she takes her hand in Maura's and begins to guide them into the stalled car.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting in the car?" Jane replies, confused more than ever at the apparent flaw in her logic. She feels the grip on her hand twist, and with one breath she finds herself facing Maura.

"With your car's insulation-"

"English?" Jane interrupts, the lack of energy in her body unable to say anything else.

Maura sighs, pulling Jane closer. "It's colder in there than it is out here, and if you're looking for a way to keep warm, the best way to maintain a healthy body temperature is through skin contact. But it will be hard considering these," she gestures at their coats, "are in the way."

A sudden memory flashes through her mind. Jane quickly unzips her coat and before Maura can even question her sanity, she begins to do the same with hers. "Frankie and I used to do this all the time." She begins. "When we were little we used to-"

"Undress each other?" Maura's innocent interruption makes her feel warmer in places that she shouldn't feel in this kind of weather. The words create a sight for her that shouldn't be in her mind, but it also makes her laugh, because it's something Maura _would_ say.

"No," Jane simply corrects, stepping closer as one end of her jacket meets with one of Maura's. "We used to zip up the opposite ends of our jackets to make a big one." She drags the zipper up as far as she can before working on the one behind them. "There." She finally says, proud of her quick thinking.

It isn't until she realizes what she's actually done that her dignified stance caves into a meek posture, feeling the heat of Maura's body close to hers.

"This is," the woman next to her ponders, eyes searching Jane's face then to observe the new creation made, "different. May we?" She gestures down to the step and Jane nods. In unison, they crouch carefully until they're seated on the edge of the concrete steps, shoulder to shoulder.

A few minutes pass by until another one of them shivers. "This is supposed to help?" Jane asks. She holds her arms together in case Maura needs more room, but not so much that it gets mistaken for an act of uneasiness.

"There's usually more skin." Maura explains, hesitation lining every word.

"Oh."

"May I?" Jane turns her head at the request only to see the face in profile, eyes cast down at their coats. She then feels fingers ghost over arm, inching their way underneath it.

"Oh, yeah - sure." She releases the hold she has on her limbs as Maura hoops one arm through, eventually settling into her touch.

When the seconds counting off the silence stretch into minutes, Jane finds herself looking at her watch and dread filling in the weight of her frown. Her sigh causes a slight nudge from the woman next to her. "What is it?"

"Ma's going to _kill_ me if we don't get home in an hour." The jitters subside when she hears a small giggle escape from beside her. Jane slowly turns her head in Maura's direction, cocking her neck back slightly as she tries to display a look of disbelief with her numb features.

"I'm sorry." Maura says, the amusement she holds turning into a smile. "Not that us being potential victims of your Mother's wrath is amusing, it's.. it's the way you said it."

"The way I said it - Maur, you don't understand how serious she is about Christmas Eve." Jane playfully slaps at the knee laying against hers. "She dragged Frankie down from his room when he had the flu and said he could suffer downstairs with us instead."

"Your Mother wouldn't do that." The sudden response processes through what Jane's sure is an eclectic mind, the quick gesture of her head that tilts in thought accompanying it. Her curls, pressed closer to her face by the tuque she wears, sweep against her rosy cheeks as she corrects herself. "I take that back. But I understand why she's so eager to get you all together. Doing what you do, she wants to make each holiday count. Incase it's her last with you. That, I understand."

Jane's lip twitches in turn for acknowledgement. "Yeah, I guess," her foot, so eager to kick at the snow beneath it, is inhibited by the forthcoming thought, "Or she doesn't want us to be alone."

"Then I don't think she'll be angry with you."

"You don't think?" Her curiosity is genuine as she pulls their arms closer together with the thought, somewhat eager for the explanation.

"If in fact you think your Mother only acts that way because she wants her children to have company on Christmas Eve, then she won't be angry with you. You're not alone, Jane." Maura gestures with a raised brow at the lack of space between them, so simple and so matter-of-factly. "I'm here with you."

Though Maura's logic can sometimes miss the point she tries to make, this is one time that Jane appreciates it. Because she's right; she isn't alone. She may be rattled by their bad luck and sitting outside in the arctic weather during Christmas Eve, but she's definitely not alone. The warmth she feels at the woman's words spread throughout her body, causing her to smile in gratitude. And then Maura does it - she locks her gaze with Jane's. Perhaps for a split second in real time, but the emotion in such a glance transforms the heat into flames on her lips, and Jane suddenly finds herself yearning for that privacy. For that solitude. Where she can relieve the grip on her wrists that restrain her from wanting to pull Maura in closer. Where even the cold shouldn't have to numb this much of her feelings. Where she can do whatever she needs to do to release it all and come back to square one.

Sleeping next to Maura that night had been a privilege, yet at the same time, an act of hindrance. The night was what she used to release and start over. Where her fingers would do the work and let whatever emotion she bottled up release. She couldn't do such a thing with the woman of her very desire lying next to her, in her arms, breathing onto her neck. She couldn't.

So it built up.

Then the morning came. Then work. Then more work. Then now.

Two weeks of unreleased hunger, yearning for that one night of release. One night she hasn't had yet.

"Jane?" A hand holds hers as a bare one cradles her face. "You're freezing!" Maura says, and it isn't until Jane comes back in her body that she finally feels the sting of the wind against her cheeks. When the action turns from a protective gesture into a more intimate one - Maura's thumb brushing at Jane's trembling chin - the timidness surfaces in her eyes.

When Maura's shy, Jane knows she does one of three things. She can step back a little flustered, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in her clothing. She can also look away and avoid eye contact, most of the time darting her sight down to the ground. Or, she can mutter out incoherency.

And then there's that rare occasion when Maura does absolutely nothing - when her timidness turns into unequivocal fear, her limbs refusing to move even at a fraction of the pace in which her mind runs. It's only happened once, and Jane barely remembers it. But she _remembers_. She remembers hitting the ground, feeling the blood escape from the wound she inflicted upon herself outside the precinct. She remembers Maura calling out her name, running faster than she ever recalls as her eyes close and the air in her lungs escape from her fall. She remembers opening her eyes again, slightly, to see Maura frozen a few feet away like she's run into some invisible wall. Her eyes, though, tell another story.

They told another story that day and they tell another story now. Mere inches away from one another, Jane not only sees the timidness turn into fear, but the tears that begin to form and eventually fall. It isn't until Jane's wiping at them that Maura breaks from her paralyzed state. "Maura?" She says gently, not asking what's wrong but asking if she's there - if she's in her limbo or here with her.

The rapid fluttering of eyes tell Jane that she's here, with her. She smiles at her presence, the grip on her hand tightening. When the tears finally subside she begins to pull her hand away. The retraction causes Maura to wince, and even if it's slight and barely an interruption waving over the smooth skin, Jane notices it. Both her hands now hold fidgeting ones, her thumb brushing over them. "I'm still here." She doesn't know why she says it, but she does. And though Maura knows it's impossible for her to leave she still nods, needing the reassurance.

Even if their jackets hadn't been zipped together Jane still wouldn't leave. Physical or emotional, the attachment she feels to the woman is beyond her belief, but not beyond her explanation. With the nights full of thought, desire and frustration of, about and for Maura, Jane feels a lot more for her than she thought she ever could. And just when her eyes flick down to the sight of those lips, the words that escape them subside the worry and ignite her growing attraction.

"I'm sorry."

_That_. That incessant nature she has for apologizing is something Jane _loves_. Maura may consider it one of her vices, but to her it's a defining quality of the woman's character. To Jane, those two words are how everything she's been given in her life only hindered her greed when it had the ability to do the opposite. Jane loves that she can see it the way she does. But at the same time, it also makes her sad. It makes certain parts of her weak just at the thought; there's times when Maura apologizes out of insecurity - that she's sorry for showing such emotion, for showing that she's human.

This is one of those moments.

Jane knows accepting the apology won't be as effective as the silence she gives, and when the minutes tick by and she feels the fingers under her grip twitch and a breath exhale the remaining tension, she speaks. "Do you understand yet?" She asks, the question referring to their conversation two weeks back. It catches Maura off guard as her eyes narrow in confusion. They then widen with slight realization, the fingers beneath Jane's hold shifting yet again.

Maura nods.

"Then why does it still bother you?" Her eyes try to search for answers but Maura closes hers, refusing to let her look any further. Jane continues on shaky grounds. "I thought that once you figured out-"

"It's not that easy, Jane." Though her words indicate a retraction of some sort, her actions demonstrate the opposite. Maura shifts closer on the cold concrete, biting on her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. The cold numbs her hesitation, allowing her courage to mirror the gesture as tangles one leg around Maura's. "Just because I understand, it doesn't necessarily mean that I'm content with whatever it is I've understood."

"How does it make you feel, then?"

Her lips shake in that way they do just before she sobs, and when her head fails to shake the rising feeling off she's crying yet again. "Sad." Maura buries her face in the hand she breaks free from their grip. What comes out next is muffled, yet coherent enough to send a jolt of realization throughout the detective's body. "How can I love someone and not be with them? I- I don't understand." Jane bites her lip from blurting out that she, in fact, does understand because it's quite literally her situation. "How can I just sit here when they're out there, risking their life for their job?"

A few moments pass by of sniffling before Jane finally gathers up to courage to ask. "Is this about the.. the love of your life?" Even referring to him indirectly pains her.

She sees the slight hesitation in Maura's face emerge, her eyebrows knitting into thought before she replies. "I guess you can call h-" She stops abruptly. Maura swallows the words locked in her mouth and continues her reply with a curt nod.

"If you love the love of your life as much as you do, Maura, and if it hurts you this much to not be with them, do what you need to do." Jane can hear the words escaping her mouth and can feel her mind trying to grab them back. "But you only deserve to love someone who loves you just as much."

"That's what I don't know." Maura confides. She finally brings her hand down from her face, the colour in her eyes as tinted as the colour of her lips. "How can you know when the distance between the both of you is preventing that? And the thing is, I can already say that I'd give up my career to be with h-" She takes in another breath as she chokes up, exhaling a trembling one soon after. "I'd give up a lot. I'd give up my practice. I wouldn't need it to feel alive anymore, Jane. I'd have-"

"The love of your life." She finishes. Her tone is neutral, but inside it's chaos. What she hears herself saying next just feeds the flame. "I get it." It causes a look of interest to spark in Maura's eyes, breaking away from her sorrowful confessions.

"You do?" The small voice finally asks.

Jane nods. "There's people I'd give up my job for just so I can protect them for the rest of my life. Nobody else but them." She shrugs. "Simple as that." And it is, really. If, in an ideal world, Maura did tell her everything she wanted to hear, she'd quit her job and do whatever people who loved each other did. She'd be with Maura for as long as she could and protect her every step of the way. If you love somebody, you love somebody. If she loves somebody, she'll love them.

But then there's the world, and everybody in it, and everybody she can't trust.

Jane's loved before, but not to the point of selflessness. Of fear. Whenever she thinks of Maura, she's faced with a constant decision of allowing one of her fears to come true. Heartbreak or death. Because if they were in fact in an ideal world and she and Maura both felt the same way for each other, she still can't change the way the world is. The job she's invested herself in has opened her eyes to the point where they've been burned from seeing so much light. And Jane knows. She knows what can happen if you let your guard down for even a second. She's worked cases of same-sex couples and she _knows_ how brutal the world can be. And seeing that she can't protect them from every single thing, the little perfectionist hidden in the depths of her mind finalizes the decision.

It has to be heartbreak. It has to be _her_ pain, and no one else's.

"Simple as that." She repeats, realizing the amount of time that's gone by. Maura doesn't seem to mind, though. She's lost in her own thoughts as she absently stares past Jane. The echo of her words bring her back and into her body.

The silence continues, only this time with a level of comfort.

"Jane," The sudden heaviness she feels in her chest astounds her. When she tracks Maura's gaze down to her own lips, a lock of dark hair stuck from the tacky texture of her lip balm, she feels the hand in her grip pull away. "May I?" Maura finally asks, and despite the decision her mind's made and the knowledge that this moment will only haunt her later in the night, Jane nods.

She feels a thumb rest in the small curve of her chin, stopping the slight tremble of her jaw. Then, when fingers just as shaky as her own breaths inch closer towards her lips, she feels them slowly graze over and sweep away the hair. Maura tucks it back gently behind her ear. Jane bows her head down in the slightest manner to show her gratitude.

When she gathers the courage to look back into her eyes once more, a loud sound causes them both to stir.

The cold wind hits her harder than her feelings, causing Jane to become flustered. She feels the blush creeping up her neck, and when she turns around to find their cab driver honking impatiently, she sighs and untangles her leg from Maura's. And just before she can square her body forward to rise, Maura's already up, one foot down the step. And before either of them can really remember that their coats are zipped together, the pull Jane feels reminds her. And before she can warn Maura or even ask her to stop, she's falling, holding onto the back of the woman's head and wrapping her arm protectively around her.

Jane buries her head in Maura's neck, using her knees to break the fall and keep the damage to a minimum. When they finally hit the ground and they hear the cab driver laugh menacingly at their misfortune, she lifts her face to meet Maura's, realizing just how close they are to one another. It's only when the cab driver whistles does Jane does come to acknowledge the fact that she's straddling Maura, her hand behind the woman's head only lifting it closer to meet hers.

She carefully sets her head down, feeling the sudden pain in her palm as she retracts it.

"Sorry." They both mumble, words directly said into the other's mouth as their eyes avoid any sort of contact. They quickly unzip the sides of their coats, and it's then, when Jane feels the sudden absence of fingers around her waist, does she realize Maura had been holding her there since the fall.

It's only when they're in the cab home do the fingers come back, the way they rest on her wrist asking the question Maura's been asking the entire evening. "_May I?_"

Jane responds by opening her hand, feeling the pain in her palm fade from Maura's touch.

* * *

><p>I've checked this over three times, so I'm crossing my fingers that there's no mistakes. If there are and you'd like to let me know, go on right ahead. Again, your words are very welcome. The most recent review actually pushed me to finish this today. I hope you enjoy this and I hope you stick around to read the final bit (the rating will be changed to M)! Have a lovely day, wherever you may be! :)<p> 


	6. Enough

A wonderful thing happened called _Million Dollar Man _by Lana Del Rey and this was the result. Thank you so much for your support (reviews, alerts, PMs, etc) during the process of this story. It's helped me in ways more than one. This isn't the last chapter, but kind of a "tease" in comparison to it's continuation. This is written in Maura's point of view and the next one will be written from Jane's. I really did feel the need to split it since it didn't seem right to have two kinds of intimacy in one chapter. Well, for me and the way I see these our ladies, that is. And by our ladies I mean that I don't own them in any way except imaginatively. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this!

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><p><strong>Enough<strong>

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><p>"Careful," Maura warns, the arm in her grip already eager to be let loose. Jane, despite her very fragile and bruised state, plops down on the couch. The small hiss that follows only validates her caution. Maura seats herself on the edge of the coffee table, setting aside her keys with one hand as the other swats away unwelcome feet beside her. She sets herself square to Jane. "Let me take a look at that." She then offers, her finger beckoning the lolling head forward.<p>

"Really, Maura, it's fine. I'm fine." Maura grabs hold of the chin a little firmer than she should, pulling the face closer to examine the bruising area around it. "It was just a little punch."

She holds back a scoff at the understatement. "A two hundred forty-five pound man's punch is not _little_." She retorts. "With biceps as well defined as his, I'd say it was a Hell of a punch."

"Did you just," Jane pulls back in slight surprise, "did you just swear?" The amusement in her unconscious grin causes her to wince with pain.

"No, I used an idiom."

"But you swore."

"Hell may have negative connotation, but is only considered a curse to those of certain religions or to those who hold a specific belief." She smooths a finger over Jane's nose, pleased at the lack of swelling and seeing no need for further observation. Regardless, Maura continues to linger, tilting the woman's face in various angles. It's then - when she brings Jane's face up to the light - that she comes to acknowledge the amount of beauty laying willingly at her touch.

Jane's beauty is the kind that sneaks up on you; the kind that hides in the shadows of her character; the kind where her stern behavior overpowers her beauty, simplifying it for no more than a glimpse with a blind eye.

But Maura knows better. She_ knows_ Jane is beautiful. Even when her brows are attuned to the level of her fury and her jaw is clenched, resisting the urge to speak, Maura's still able to see it - the natural curve of her lips, the vulnerability in her eyes, the poise in her predatory stance and the undulation in her hips when she stalks forward. When Jane's not on the clock and out with Maura, it's easier to notice. The grin on her lips matches the ones in her eyes, and the structure of her bones beneath them shift into a genuine expression. She's able to appreciate the physique that's so often layered with formality and protection, especially with a career as demanding as hers.

But when Jane is like _this_ - when she's neither burdened with work or the obligation to dress-up, it's overwhelming. The way her jaw relaxes and settles into Maura's touch is almost too much, feeling the skin mesh with hers, like it's always belonged there. With the excuse of inspecting an injury, Maura's able to see details of Jane she's never seen before; the small, faint freckles that spread with no order, the natural rosiness of her cheeks that Maura often tries to create cosmetically, the matte feel of her skin and her astoundingly natural beauty. So delicate yet undisrupted by the heavy strain of emotions that come with her job.

It quite literally allows her to see Jane in a different light, finding a new softness in the face that's often steeled. "You'll be fine." She finally says, letting go of her discovery.

She assumes the news to be taken with more hope than disappointment, yet she finds herself hearing the latter, along with a heavy exhale. "You don't needa to pop it out?"

"Just put some ice on it and it should be fine. The impact of his punch was really on your left cheek." She tends to the wrinkles forming on her dress, working them away so her fingers won't fidget. When they reach her knees and are on the edge of crossing over to Jane's, she feels them layered with warm ones.

"I'm sorry if I scared you back there." Jane says, squeezing lightly before letting go. "I just don't-" She sighs, "I _know_ what came over me, and I'm usually good at hiding it. I'm just.. I'm sorry you had to see that." Her lips press into a thin line, rolling them out as she nips at the bottom half tentatively.

"I may have disapproved of your behaviour at the Dirty Robber, Jane, but please don't doubt for a moment that I don't appreciate your intentions. I'm very grateful."

And she is. Maura doesn't know anyone else who'd even _attempt_ to punch a two hundred forty-five pound intoxicated man. She doesn't know anyone who'd have enough courage in themselves and the amount of care for her to do such a thing. Anyone asides from Jane, that is.

"He was an asshole." Jane scorns, leaning back into her sofa.

"He was inebriated."

"He tried to _feel_ you up, Maura." The dark haired woman pulls herself forward. "Alcohol is no excuse."

She blinks back in surprise, quickly realizing her habit of literal correction must have been mistaken for vindication. She slightly nods in agreement, and as if the small gesture is suddenly able to shake out the words in her head, Maura hears herself saying, "No one would ever do that for me."

The slip causes Jane's bitterness to retreat. "Except me." When she blinks, the softness appears in her eyes as her lip twitches up into a smile.

"Except you." Maura repeats. She stiffens at her mind's betrayal, the afterthought meant to _stay_ a thought and _not_ an echo.

The silence stretches out between them.

Longer than it should.

When Maura can no longer tolerate it and her thoughts from the previous months threaten to escape, she rises. And at the _exact_ same moment so does Jane. Their bodies bump into one another, and unbalanced from her stance, surprise and drinks earlier in the evening, she clumsily staggers back, only to be pulled forward.

As opposed to the last incident, Maura finds that it's she who now straddles Jane. Yet as painful and awkward it had been before, she's never remembered feeling so safe; so protected and enveloped in warmth at her attempt to run away after exposing herself. Because she shouldn't have said what she said. She shouldn't have admitted to herself _and_ to Jane that what she's been feeling has consumed her ability to be objective. She shouldn't have nodded when Jane unknowingly described herself as the love her life. She shouldn't have put Jane in that position to say it and think otherwise that it wasn't her.

None of that should have happened.

None of this is supposed to happen either.

Maura climbs off Jane as quickly as she can, feeling the stretch in her dress as she unhooks a leg from the side. "I'm sorry." She says, the uneasiness in her voice small in comparison to what she feels inside.

"It's- it's fine."

If Maura had looked to her side to see the faint amusement in Jane's face, the sight would probably settle her back into comfort, brushing this matter off like the other five times. Because it's Jane. She can glance at her for the briefest moment out of panic and find herself looking away calmer than ever. The way their eyes lock - the amount of emotion that runs through a brief glance between them - is more than enough to settle her nerves.

But she doesn't. She doesn't look to her side and the thoughts that jeopardize everything she's worked for in this friendship come out. "_No_. It's _not_."

"Maura it was an acc-"

"_None _of this is _fine_." She hisses, caught up in the rapid spewing of her thoughts. "Best friends aren't supposed to- _I'm_ not supposed to be feeling these things. I thought I was incapable."

"Incapable?" The echo next to her makes Maura realize the disloyalty of her mind once more. In an attempt to escape from what she's just revealed, she tries to get up, the position her body lays on the sunken couch slowing down the process. She's stopped regardless. "Maura, what do you mean by incapable?"

Hit with the realization that this has to happen now, she does her best to not crumble under the firm grip on her arm. She retraces the subject of their conversation and finds a few words to play back, buying herself time as she tries to regain her composure. "What came over you?"

It catches Jane off guard. "What?"

"If the underlying reason for your protectiveness over me is what I think it is, then you know what I thought I was incapable of. Because you are capable of it." The maze she creates with her words gives Maura time to shift farther away. She gains the upper hand as she watches Jane maneuver her way through the thought, catching her small shake of frustration. The gesture alone indicates Jane's failed attempt to understand.

"I protected you because that's what I do, Maura."

"I told you how I felt about that. I told you that day over Michael Dunder's body how I felt with you constantly protecting-"

"Yeah," She's cut off. The sudden change in Jane's position denotes the growing agitation. "That you can't always have me."

"I can't always have you, Jane." She pauses, stressing the words, noting the sudden stillness in the air. "I can't have you in the way I'm realizing I want to have you." Her voice shakes at the fading ambiguity. "I thought I was incapable of feeling these things. Not just for you, but for people in general." Afraid to even peek out from the corner of her eye, she faces the television, fidgeting with the tips of her nails. Relief washes over her as she feels the frustration in the other woman dissolve. "I don't see people as others do. I get into relationships when my attachment to the pleasure they give me grows. I don't get into them because I like them, per se. I-" She takes in a breath before finally admitting, "I use men. I use men for sex, for that satisfaction their anatomy gives me. I used to use them, subconsciously, to fill that void Ian kept leaving."

When doubt begins to cloud Maura's mind at the terrible idea this all is, she feels the soft dip of the space next to her, and it's then realizes just how close Jane is. When the silence prevails and she feels it's safe to continue, she does.

"It's why I do what I do. I don't see the true worth of people. It's only after they're gone that I realize their importance, and Ian is a constant reminder of that." She can feel the misinterpretation of her last words and she quickly builds onto the thought. "Of him, it's grown into a realization that if I let someone in like I did with him, they'd have control over me, and they'd hurt me. But then you," Maura finally gathers up the courage to face Jane. When she turns her head, she notices the familiar look in the woman's face.

The look she often gives her own reflection. That look that fights the urge to come to terms with what she can't deny any longer. "I let you in nearly as much as I did with Ian, but you didn't hurt me."

"Maura, I'd never hurt you." The look in Jane's eyes is telling of her faith.

"I know you won't." She reassures. "And that's when I realized the great deal you mean to me. I've learned.. I've read that when a person feels the amount of affinity for another as I do for you, - to trust another as implicitly as I do with you - the most natural thing to do next is trust them, intimately. Do you.. do you understand?" Her lips quiver at the fear consuming her.

To say so much is to give so much away; that's always been Maura's belief. Silence is her way of coping. It's her wall of peace and of solitude. It allows her to process her experiences, filtering out any negativity and holding on to what she can learn from. But with each time she does break her silence - with each time she takes that risk and voices her feelings - she's been burned and bruised, and the little voids she feels inside are only a reminder of that. It's why she relies on science for the definite answer. But this.. there isn't any formula she can fill in with the events of her life that would bring her closer to understanding.

The answer she requires can only be given from the absolute faith in another being.

"Do you remember when I told you there's people I'd give up my job for just so I can protect them for the rest of my life?" Jane reminds. Maura nods, but the redirection of their conversation causes her to pull away, feeling the rejection of what she tried so hard to word coherently. "I lied." And before she register an emotion from the two words, Jane continues. "There's only one person I'd do that for."

She grabs at the hands Maura's locked together before she finally says it. "You."

And that's all she needs. That's all the fuel Maura needs to strip away the insecurity of her feelings and pursue it.

"Do you remember.. when you told me that if I loved the love of my life as much as I do, and if hurts this much to not be with them.. to do what I need to do?" She then faces the other woman entirely, her knee brushing against her thigh.

"Yeah," Jane says as Maura moves in closer, hovering over parted lips before they even finish responding.

"I know what I need to do."

"Then do it."

And she does.

Perhaps tainted by her own reverie, she's always imagined Jane's touch to be soft. The small ones she receives on her back, hip, arm and hands are only an attestation to her hopes. The touch of her lips, though, are beyond those hopes.

Way beyond.

When Maura's lips meet Jane's she nearly moans. She's surprised at the hunger and the thirst - the tame expression of it as she feels the woman's teeth tug at the bottom of her lip. Aware of the fragility of her nose, Maura stills their kiss, not only out of caution, but also out of the need to commit the feel of Jane's lips in her memory. They're softer than any fabric she's worn and warmer than an August night in Boston. They're perfect.

When it's engrained in her mind and the time comes to pull away, Maura does so, retracting slowly as she watches dark eyes flutter open. "But you only deserve to love someone who loves you just as much." Jane says, only moments after, breathing the air she exhales.

"Do you?" Maura tries to hide the erratic shift of her emotions as she narrows her gaze on swollen lips. That part had been left out for a reason in her spontaneous seduction.

She conceals it enough that Jane misses the earnest expression in her words. "Depends on how much you love me." She teases, and when the fuel runs out and she's stalled with no way out, it dawns on Maura just how much it all hurts. She pulls herself away, suddenly realizing her calculations must have been wrong - that they were never on the same page to begin with. Jane's eyes flash an apology, the uncertainty beneath the pardon telling Maura she doesn't really know what it's exactly for. And when the other woman's body braves itself towards her, she stops it, a hand on her knee as her own foot turns away, ready to leave if the need ever arises.

Because that's what Maura does. She pushes any unfamiliar obstacle out of the way to walk the path she's walked plenty of times. She stays within the bounded edges of her books, she sticks to what she knows, and _this_? This isn't something she knows. In fact, it's something she consistently fails to understand. There is no book about feelings. No guide, no manual, no _anythin__g_. Because despite the fact that many have gone through this struggle and battle to accept what they want so badly to deny, at the end of the day, they aren't Maura, and they aren't feeling this for Jane.

Jane.

The person who has everything to lose, who _has_ lost, then gained. But Maura knows a day will come where she'll lose, again. She'll lose so much that she'll have nothing and Maura doesn't know if she'll be there - if she'll be part of that loss.

Jane.

The woman she cares for. The woman she'd do nearly anything for. The woman she loves.

"I love you." Maura finally says. "You know that. I love you enough to tell you something I'm so uncertain about, something I have no tangible proof of. I love you enough to take a risk." Not that she's never taken any; she takes her fair share of those. When her curiosity gets the better of her, she strays. Far. Maura finds herself wandering off into the unproven and the unknown, always coming back a little less sane and a little less innocent. And she knows. She knows how these things begin and how they end. Yet as many times as she convinces herself it isn't a good idea, that split second of safety is what keeps her hoping; never has she felt the worth in a moment so short. "I love you enough to act on those feelings, and to trust you with it.. to not take it and turn it against me. I love you enough to overcome my fear of losing you." Though she can't exactly measure the amount of love she feels for the woman, with the statements given and the numbness spreading across her chest, Maura knows it's a lot. It's a lot, especially in response to a teasing remark.

It's then, when the silence sinks in with Maura's words, does Jane realize the weight of the conversation and what it is exactly they're trying to figure out. "It wasn't fair of me-" The hand that rests on Jane's knee finds its way to her cheek, cupping it as her lips rest next to swollen ones.

"I've had a lot of time to think about this, and it isn't fair of me to ask you now." Maura whispers. "I've been here, and I'll still be here when you find out how much, and if you can overcome your own fears."

Jane slides a hand up her side, cradling her neck as she rests the top of her head against Maura's. When she feels the temptation rising between them for more contact, Maura pulls away and gets up, gathering her belongings and making her way to the door.

"I don't love women like I love you." She says, twisting the knob and pulling the door open. "I don't love anyone like I love you."

Then Maura leaves, finding strength in each of her steps until she gets in her car. When she fails to maintain her composure and her knees tremble with the uncertainty of her breaths, she finally relents, crying until she gets herself in bed. She keeps everything on, resting her thumb lightly against her lips to bring back the memory of Jane's against them.

* * *

><p>I promise Maura isn't sad. She's just overwhelmed at what happened. None of us like a sad Maura, especially when she's crying. So this ends her schpeel about how much she feels for Jane. I know Jane herself seems a little quiet here, but wait a little until I post the final chapter where she pretty much voices it all. Also, I've never really seen Maura talk about as something as in depth about a topic like this (she was very vague with Ian to Jane, and even then she had a hard time finding what to say. So when the load of confiding reaches a more detailed level, I imagined Jane to be completely at loss for words, mainly because this is actually happening and she needs time to process it all). This is my take on how Maura would word it and how she would act while saying so. If it seems out of character for you, I apologize. We all have our different views of the characters. This is how I see Maura.<p>

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed and will stick around for the big bang at the end, no pun intended. Have a lovely day, wherever you may be!


	7. Show and Tell

Well, this is it. The last and **not** awkward physical encounter! Oh, and you know... the end. It's a treat because it's extra long, has smut (note that the rating as changed to **M**), and has both points of views. You can thank the four tests and three essays for the delay of this update. You can also thank Lana Del Rey's _Million Dollar Man_ once again for helping me finish this piece. Oh, and just to let you know, I haven't written smut in over a year, so this is a little rusty but I did try my best. All mistakes (because there's some, guaranteed) are mine and will fix them when I spot 'em.

Thank you, so, _so_, _**so**_, much for every single person who's read and followed this. Reviewed or not, I appreciate the time you've all taken to read _Decent Exposure. _Hopefully I did this final chapter justice. Now, enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Show and Tell<strong>

* * *

><p>Well, shit.<p>

She runs a hand through the unruly curls of her hair as she finally breaks from her mould. Jane resists the urge to lick away the dryness of her lips, the desire to preserve the mark Maura's left on them overpowering the habit. She stills the hand midway through the gesture, redirecting it to her throbbing temple while the other balls itself into a fist. Jane plops herself forward on the couch, and as she breaks through the air and a familiar scent hits her nose, she's reminded of one fact.

It happened.

Maura kissed her, and despite the definitiveness of her decision, she kissed back.

_They _kissed.

Jane rises from her hunched position and lies herself completely against the couch, quickly coming to realize what a miracle it is that she's spent nearly five years sleeping on this thing. She needs to replace it, and fast; the loose spring pushing against her back is only an attestation. She brushes the side of her lips with a thumb, and as if the pooling heat between her legs and the rapid thumping in her chest isn't enough proof, she brings her fingers up into view. The realization finally sets in when the colour of Maura's lips fade into her skin.

It happened.

"_I've had time to think about it."_

So has Jane, but the more those words play over in her mind, the more she realizes how much Maura's considered, and if her own even level with that. Jane rethinks the worth of her feelings and if the decision she's made is either a loss or gain. And when those gears that have to consider such emotion start turning despite their rustic state, it's then – when she has no arm to grip and no eyes to stare in for reassurance – that Jane becomes painfully aware of her loneliness. In all her years in her apartment, there's never been an instant where Jane's felt lonely. Of course she's been alone, but lonely?

Those are two different things.

There's been times where she was surrounded by hundreds of people and she's felt lonely.

There's been times where she's felt company with no one other than herself.

But to feel lonely in the place she has the right to feel otherwise in? It isn't fair. It isn't fair that her sanctuary has been trampled on. _Again_. Then again, it isn't fair the way everything happened tonight – it isn't fair that Maura left before she could say anything. It isn't fair that her mind stopped her, refuting the gentle requests of her heart. It isn't fair–

The sounds outside her window stop her mind from swirling into negativity, the distinct clack on the concrete ringing familiarly in her ears. Jane rises from the couch and approaches the open window with caution. "What the.." she glances at her watch, quickly realizing not even five minutes have passed since Maura's left. When she brings her wrist down to lean on the ledge and support the weight of her curiosity, the sounds stop, only to be replaced with another familiar but unpleasant sound – Maura's cries. Against her better judgment, Jane looks out the window, and when they land on Maura and the mess that she is, she can't look away; the glass is the screen and Maura is the show.

A very doleful show. A show she wants so badly to pause, rewrite and rewind.

Jane sees the way the ends of her curls flutter out with her deep breaths. She sees the way her tears flow over the hand that tries to cover her cries. She sees the way the other presses against the hood of the car, supporting her weak knees as she makes her way inside.

If her feet hadn't been bolted to the floor, Jane would be outside in an instant. Yet it wouldn't be right of her – Maura's given her space and in turn Jane should only do the same. It's only when Maura shuts the door does it all deafen her; when the white noise comes rushing into Jane's ears and creates chaos. It forces her to pull away, covering her ears and plopping back down onto the couch. Then, when she hears the engine start and the slight screech of tires, Jane places her hands at her sides. Her thumbs make a move for her scars as she gets back to thinking.

It's only minutes later she realizes that perhaps, the most unfair thing of tonight is that she _let_ Maura leave. Because Jane knows Maura. She knows that just because she's let this big secret off her chest she won't feel any better. Like leaving a victim at a crime scene and losing forensic evidence with each passing second, Jane knows that every second Maura spends alone, a part of her sanity slips away. And that's what bothers her – that Maura just dumped all this load of, mind you, _requited_ emotion onto her shoulders and carried the greater burden of worry on her own. That she wouldn't even let Jane try to lift it away.

Because she could, and if she was given the chance, she would.

Without even thinking she rises and pulls the keys out from the pocket of her blazer.

Jane is always one to run on rationality. Though some are surprised at the fact, it's true. When she gives into Ma's ideas of bonding time, rationality is present. Even when she's chasing down a perp without back-up, rationality is present.

But when she's locking the door, starting her car and turning into the roads that will eventually lead her to turn into Maura's, rationality is not present. At all. And when the rationality isn't present – when her body takes complete control and guides every muscle in her body to do what it needs for relief – it's bad. It happens when a case is tough and she drinks everything she possibly can to push down the frustration and guilt. It happens when she thinks about her Father, wherever the Hell he is, and she finds herself smashing things she doesn't need but still wants. It happens on occasion, and she's usually fine with it. She's fine with having those brief moments of insanity. It all usually comes flooding back the morning after, and she's fine with that too.

Better to live out the consequences of your mania than to live in it.

But when she finds herself acting out of impulse, suddenly snapping out of it to face whatever her body's forced her into, that's when Jane knows it's _really _bad. It's only when she's at Maura's door does it dawn upon her that this is one of those moments. Common courtesy pushes the doorbell before she's able to stop it. It rings, loudly, like some sort of alarm in her mind telling her that this is it. That it's happening now, and if she's chicken her legs are all for running. But when Maura opens the door, hair parted unevenly, eyes red and color splashed outside the lines of her lips, it's then she realizes that she can't.

Now that Jane's here, she can't leave Maura like this. So she doesn't. She fights the fear conducting her nerves and steps inside.

"I'm not gay." If her hands hadn't been busy locking the door, Jane's fairly certain they'd be covering her mouth in humiliation. "I mean," she sighs and turns around, unsure of where this is going, "I don't... I've never dated a woman. Kissed some, sure, with the help of booze." The back she finds herself facing now turns, half with curiosity and half with something else Jane can't distinguish. "I don't feel like this. I've gotten butterflies for Casey and even wore a dress for Dean, but with you..." Jane takes a step closer towards the woman, swinging back on the balls of her feet. "I don't think you understand, Maur, how I get around you." Her voice lowers to that raspy tone, the courage finally running thin as the timidness emerges.

"Then try to make me." Maura says. It's free of challenge, judgment and of everything that can possibly hinder Jane.

Dark eyes search the other woman's before she finally puts her fidgetting hands to work. One buttons down her shirt as the other grabs hold of Maura's hand. Jane guides it up and presses it flat against her chest. "This," she says, able to hear the thumping in her ears, "is how I get around you. And when you left, I could have sworn it stopped."

"Jane," Maura makes no move to pull away, only sighing at her exageration. She knows that tone. "Heart palpatations are within the realms of occurence, but having it stop completely is physically impossible. That is if–"

"I thought it was impossible to love you."

Thankfully, it shuts Maura up.

"Like... you know I love you." She speaks down to the ground quietly, shoulders rising with the obvious statement. "But I didn't know I could _love you_, love you." Jane takes the hand and opens it, her fingers mindlessly tracing the lines inside. "I asked you how much you loved me, and it wasn't fair when even I can't answer that question."

Maura pulls away, a little startled at her words. "You don't know?"

"That's not what I said."

"You essentially said you don't know how much you love me."

"You're missing the important part. I love you." Jane stresses the last three words. "Why does it matter how much?"

"Because I _need_ to know." Maura steps back, her eyes blinking away the vulnerability as her defenses rise. "What if one day one it just stops? How can I possibly know that my love won't ever run short?" She brings a hand up to her chest, jabbing her fingers against it. "How can I know this is even real, Jane? Love is intangible. I have nothing to prove it's existence apart from the vessel it lies in." The finger then points to Jane, and in the split second of pause she notices just how much it trembles. "And you? You're not absolute. I can wake up one day and you can be gone." The insecurity flashes across her green eyes as Jane's stomach drops at the words. "I told you I love you, and it _petrifies_ me how certain I am of that when there's everything else telling me that I shouldn't be." Maura lifts her hands up in defeat, dropping them to her side. "So yes, it matters to me."

Jane runs a hand through her hair, rubbing the back of her neck as she tries to get a grasp of her own thoughts. "Please, hear me out, okay?" She brings both of her hands into a clasp and rests her chin upon them. Maura nods at her plea. "Remember that night Hoyt escaped and I came here?" Another nod signals for her to continue. "I told you that I've never been so scared in my entire life. And I was telling the truth. That was the most scared I've ever been back then. But now... this," Jane gestures to the rather wide gap between them, "this _really _scares me, Maur. You know how I am when it comes to this. I'm used to being alone and I'm used to being left. I'm okay on my own. But when you left me there," she hitches a thumb to her back and behind her, "alone, with everything... it..." Jane takes her hand and rubs the crook of her neck, "There's just times when you leave and I get sad. I try to shake it off but it doesn't go away until I'm with you again. And I realized, at that moment, that I can't ever be okay with being alone again." She fails to keep her voice steady, the crack in the last word making Maura step closer.

The woman's words contradict the bravery of her actions. "I was trying to give you space, to think out your thoughts as I had the opportunity to do with mine." Maura's response is meek, the shuffle in her steps evident with her guilt.

"I don't need space." Jane counters. "I just need you. This is something I've never given anyone all of, but it's something I'm willing to give to you, if you take it. And this," she lapses a hand over the one on her shoulder, "can't ever be measured."

"It doesn't make sense."

"It's love. It's not really supposed to make sense." She shrugs. Jane's done her best at explaining and all she can hope for is complete understanding. Maura may have vocalized overcoming her fears, but Jane's shown that she's done the same by coming here, and she trusts that to be seen. When the silence stretches out with comfort and time deems it safe, she brings a hand up to cup Maura's jaw.

Maura then sighs into the touch, and that's when Jane feels it – the ounce of doubt still on that tongue, waiting to be resolved. She pulls herself closer to the woman as her voice lowers to a near whisper. "And if I have to show you everyday that I love you, I will." Jane closes the gap between them, mumbling her last words onto Maura's lips. When they meet it's different. Neither moan. Neither are hungry. Neither are thirsty. Neither are desirous of the other.

This kiss – this soft and stilled act of intimacy – is a ressurance of everything said and waiting to be said.

Jane's tongue flicks away the uncertainty that lingers on Maura's, and when she pulls away, swallowing whatever she's taken and opening her eyes, she sees it. She sees all of what's left in those dark eyes, green softly lining the edges.

Readiness.

A minute of an unbroken glance passes by before their lips clash against each other, bruising the tips of their noses as their hands search for something to grasp. Jane tries to ignore the pain that shakes through her temple at the contact; there's no way in Hell she'd pass this up just because of a punch to the nose.

When the arousal finally overpowers the pain, Jane finds herself against the door and on the ends of her toes, arms wrapped around the head that nestles into her neck. "God, Maura." She rasps, no longer able to control herself when she feels lips sucking on the sensitive skin. Her hands try and grasp everything at once. She snakes a hand around Maura's waist as the other rakes up her fitting dress. When the supple feel of her skin ends and Jane finds lace between her fingers, her mind shatters, bringing the face up to meet hers. "Not here."

"Where?" Maura pants, lips swollen and wet.

Jane doesn't even respond. She just takes the hand around her neck and drags the body attached to it up the stairs. When she's run into the bedroom and ready to pull Maura down, what she feels next catches her completely off guard. Jane feels a strong grip on her shoulders turn her around and push her onto the bed. Maura steps out of her heels and slowly settles herself on the mattress, crawling on her hands and knees towards her.

Jane brushes the dark curls away from her face as she approaches, doing her best to commit the image of Maura slinking on all fours into her memory. But when she feels those same hands sneaking up the leg of her pants and unbuckle her belt, the memory fades, and her eyes flutter at the simple pleasure of Maura's touch.

When she's been wiggled her out of everything below the waist and finally ready for whatever is in store for the rest of the night, the lack of contact she feels forces her to open her eyes. Jane looks up to find Maura frozen, shock stilling every muscle in her face as a hand covers an open mouth. It's only when she follows the gaze does she realize the look is out of guilt.

Her knees were still pretty bad.

"I'm.. I'm sorry." Maura says. She makes a move to put a hand over the knee but stops.

Libido higher than ever, Jane does her best to not explode at the misplaced apology. "Maura, it's okay." She rubs her knees to prove that the scrapes no longer hurt; that's it's just a reminder of their misfortune on Christmas Eve. She tries to heave herself forward but is stopped with a strong hand.

"No," the woman says, shutting her eyes briefly. Maura then blinks, looking at Jane with a passion full of more nurture than desire. She pushes her down on the bed, both legs straddling her hips. "Just..." She continues to button down Jane's blouse. "Just let me show you tonight. How much I love you." She dips her head for another kiss. It's soft and slow and teasing and–

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>"Fuck."<p>

The word rings pleasure in her ears. Though not one for profanity, Maura's one to use it in the bedroom on ocassion. But to be truthful, she likes it even more when she's the one to elicit such a response. The hunger in her veins guides her actions with bravery.

Maura teases lightly, dancing her fingers past and around Jane's breast. It isn't until her lips envelop the nipple does Jane take the fingers placed alongside her jaw into her own mouth, the vibrations of her moan sending a jolt straight down Maura's core. She rises from her bent posture at the arousal flooding down between her legs and cranes her neck forward. "Did you know," she says quietly, pulling the fingers out from Jane's mouth as she ghosts them over and down her body. She hides her surprise at the lack of hair when she ventures down lower, immediately changing the direction of her thought, "how much more sensitive the skin can be without hair?" She rests them on the inner thigh, feeling the bone from the width of the woman's spread beneath her.

"I don't have the time to maintain," Jane breathes, her voice dry as she strokes closer to her center, "Waxing is–" She stops when Maura moves her fingers.

"The labia majora is often sensitive, and when touched the right way.." She glides the tips of her fingers over the area and when Jane grunts, the part of Maura that wants so badly to appease bolts into action. The sound queues her as she slides her fingers between the wet folds quickly, "it can induce such pleasure." The exhale of frustration turns into a billowing moan, the slight whimper of Maura's name rolling after an incoherent plea. She can a feel the hips beneath her own begin to roll into a mild rhythm.

Bare and open before her, Maura sees a beauty she's never noticed before - one that glows despite the lack of light. Yet as poetic this sight is, it's undoubtedly one of the most arousing images in her mind. Maura hides her smirk at what she's reduced Jane to, but when she blinks, she also finds herself hiding tears. For Jane to let every wall down, to be this vulnerable and to _need_ like this is an honour beyond words. To Maura, it's a privilege greater than any title in her career.

A privilege she never thought she'd get.

"Mm, Maur?" She's pulled away from her thoughts, the hands that once caresssed now still on Jane's hips. "Is there something wrong?"

Maura pauses for a moment and makes the choice to answer it truthfully. "No, nothing's wrong. You just fascinate me."

"I do?" Jane says, lolling her head from one side to the next, mind already in a state of euphoria. "How?"

"Well," Maura begins, trailing her hand up to Jane's chest, "your melanocytic nevus is quite fascinating."

The words don't register. "My melotonic what?"

"Melanocytic nevus." She corrects. "Your mole. I don't think I've ever seen one so convieniently placed." She traces around it, causing the skin to rise from the semblance of her touch. "But to be fair, your entire existence fascinates me." Maura states, slowly dragging her hand down. "Your form," her fingers trace the defined edges of her abdomen, "your flaws," they then ghost over Jane's scar, "your feminity.." she stops just at the hollow of her hips. "Do you know where the word clitoris orignates from, Jane?"

The woman beneath her touch trembles. "N-no."

"In the Greek language, it means divine, and I assume that regards the feeling one gets from stimulation of the clitoris. I can show you, if you'd like."

All Jane does has to do is nod, to show Maura that she trusts her entirely with the temple she's stripped bare. And when Jane does - when that tilt of her head is distinct from the endless lolls - she wastes no time. Maura dips two fingers at her entrace, thumb tracing around the sensitive nub above. "Oh," Jane gasps, head stilled to the left, finally shying away the immediate pleasure. A muscle clenches on path of her neck and Maura can't help but trace with her tongue. She follows it up to where the edges of Jane's jaw blend seamlessly and to her mouth. When she gets the head to finally turn up she pushes gently for her tongue to be let in. Granted the access, Maura times the entrance of her fingers along with her tongue, swallowing Jane's moans.

Jane sinks her head into the pillow and pulls away from their kiss. "Maura," She pants, the surprise clearly evident. She tries to hold her onto her ill temper but quickly lets go of it when Maura slips a third finger inside. "Jesus, fu–"

"I'm only trying to make you reach your climax." Maura teases and flicks her thumb against the swollen nub.

"Oh my God, why do you use those big words... stop.." Jane rasps, "stop it."

She draws her fingers out to their very edge and presses her thumb flat against Jane's clitoris. Her question is answered even beofre she can ask it. "You want me to stop?"

"Yes," Jane moans, "I, I mean, no. No, don't stop." She languidly wraps and arm around Maura's neck and pulls her in closer, the kiss she gives causing Maura to lose strength in her knees. They give out and her body falls flat against Jane's, the fabric of her dress so thin that she can feel her own nipples graze against taut ones.

Their body contact elicits a moan out of them both, and as Jane wraps her legs around what she can of Maura, the breath in her ear is what really causes her to come undone. "_Fuck_, Maura." The way she says it is enough to send her off the edge. Maura loosens her body from Jane's tight grip, only rising to mount and straddle a thigh between her legs. Her dress rises up and over to her hips at the obscure position. She then motions to dip her fingers back inside, quickly redirecting their path as she drags them up between Jane's folds and then to her mouth. Maura rests her fingers on the woman's lips, coating her in her own arousal before finally allowing Jane to take them in. A thumb brushes at the hollow of her cheeks as her fingers are drawn inside. Jane pushes them out only to take the middle back into her mouth.

Her hips roll hard against Jane's thigh when she feels a tongue move beneath it, but it's only when she pulls her finger out does she feel the teeth grazing against her bone. Maura wastes no time and dips them back inside the woman's warm entrance. Her attempt to set a rhythm fails, and as she finds herself grinding against Jane's thigh pumping two fingers in and out relentlessly, it's the look on that face that seals it.

Jane writhes unbatingly against her hand, one hand wrapped tightly around Maura's arm as the other is white from its grip on the sheets. Her lips, that often purse with disapproval now gape open, the lower half trembling with the endless pleasure. But it's her eyes – the way they look into Maura half open, the colour darkening to the shade of her hair, the small, yet noticable plea hidden beneath all the lust to finally bring her there.

Maura obliges the request with her thumb, pressing it hard and as rhymthic as she can against Jane's swollen nub as she reaches her own climax. So sudden and so intense, it causes Jane to jerk upright and push Maura over. Neither acknowledge the abrupt switch of their positions as both scramble and attempt continue their broken rhythm. Jane pins Maura against the bed as her leg straddles a thigh. Maura's mind nearly blacks out when she feels the bare flesh rub against her leg, the wetness beneath spreading onto her. Jane then rocks her hips up, bringing a knee to push in between Maura's legs. She then glides down only to grind back up, her pace becoming erratic at the overwhelming pleasure.

"Oh... _Jane_..." Maura manages to say between her moans and gasps.

The two words set Jane off and she grinds, harder, against Maura, her breath sucking in the moans as their heads rest against one another. Maura tries her best to express that she's near, that she's about to come and even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to wait for Jane. And when nothing but hot air seeps through the small spaces of her teeth, she tries another approach. Her lips rise up to meet Janes, the sudden contact eliciting a moan from the woman. It sends waves of vibrations down Maura's core and she moans, too. Then Jane pulls back, slower, and thrusts her knee hard between Maura's legs and her own wet center against Maura's thigh.

Both find themselves trembling at the contact – at the pleasure painfully coursing through every nerve in their bodies, at the infinite wetness between their legs, at the moans they mute and swallow.

* * *

><p>Jane pulls away from their kiss, eyes still closed. She opens them to find Maura beneath her, looking more unkempt, yet more beautiful than ever. Jane hates how she can do that. She steals one last kiss on those swollen lips before finally relenting and laying next to Maura.<p>

"I told you that I wanted to show you tonight." Maura says, still a little breathless.

"Another thing about love. It's very hard to control."

A sound from downstairs startles them both, throwing away the efforts of the last few minutes to regulate their pulses. "It's just Bass. Don't worry." Maura reassures, but the grip she has on her hand tells her otherwise. Without a word Jane rises from the bed and dashes across the bedroom, making her way into the closet.

"Jane?" Maura sits up at the sight, eyebrow rising with suspicion as she exits with a bat in hand. "What are you doing?"

She swings the handle up, stopping the motion as the head of the bat falls into her other hand. "Being the guy."

The other woman is caught off guard. "...What?"

"I told you," Jane shrugs, "that I'd be the guy. Remember?" Though over a year has passed, the conversation still rings familiarity to them both.

"You're going to be the guy, like that?" Maura's eyes begin to rake over her naked form with a sense of incrudelity. It's only when they rise back up to meet Jane's does it fade, praise replacing it.

She shrugs again.

"That's one count of decent exposure, detective." Maura quips, rising from her seated position and making her way to the bathroom.

"I think you mean to say _indecent_."

The retreating form stops, slowly turning around to reveal the face of thought that Jane can't help but love. "No," Maura shakes her head. She then casts another glance over Jane's body. "I meant decent."

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><p>Yes. This is the end. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have five months of vacation, so keep a look out for more of my stories! Have a lovely day, wherever you may be!<p> 


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